


Reality In Motion

by Neonplanet_doughnut12



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Cuddling, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Cornwall, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Cuddles, Cute, Evil OC, Exploring, First Kisses, Fluff, Flying, God Ships It, Holiday, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I ship them, Idiots in Love, Ineffiable husbands, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Party, Pining, Pining Crowley, Protective Crowley, Road Trip, Sharing a Bed, Ship, Shirtless Aziraphale, Slow Dancing, Sort of anyway, Spooning, Train journeys, True Forms, Vacation, aziraphale has glasses tho, baths, because I say so, bois in love, but have him anyway, celestial bois, crowley is oblivious, flustered crowley, gettung together, i cant belive I wrote this, i cant write oc’s, ineffiable boyfriends, lol, lol im sorry, more like angel-napping, morning cudling, netflix, one sided pining, pining aziraphale, record players, snuggles, so much, so’s Aziraphale, swimmimg, we STAN
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 14:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neonplanet_doughnut12/pseuds/Neonplanet_doughnut12
Summary: What starts off as an innocent work trip for the pair starts becoming more than either ever imagined, and before long they’re swimming, dressing up for parties, arguing, and delivering deeper into their friendship than ever before, all while trying to solve the dangerous mystery they first went there for.Nobody ever said it would be easy.—-Or that fic where our lads go on holiday and there’s only one bed and beef





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey yall. I wanted to jump on the bandwaggon since everyone else is having so much fun and these two are so cute. Hope I don’t dissapoint too much. 
> 
> And yes- I stole the title from a Tame Implala song. Sue me.

It rained like it had never rained before. And that, thought Crowley, was a big deal, since he had been there when it had first rained, and this was far worse. 

The water more hit the ground then fell on it, it landed with such a force, creating a noise no rain stick could ever do justice. It clouded his vision too, making everything turn so blurry even the street lamps had a halo of unfathomable, distorted matter around them.

 

Crowley was soaked through to the bone, standing in one of London’s oldest back streets, waiting for his friend. He remembered when streets like this had been built, the winding pathways connecting the greater, more idealistic aspects of London together. This particular one had winding, out of shape houses which jutted out and sucked in, with telephone wires dangling between them all like bunting. Numerous fire-escapes and balconies joined and ran above him, creating a whole other world raised over his head. He could also make out windows in the cobbled street gutters, implicating that there were in fact many a cellar, and tunnel under this street too. 

 

The sound of footsteps wading through rain snatched him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Aziraphale standing, just as wet as he was, in the center of the street a few meters away. He wore a long, beige trench coat which looked like it still belonged in the forties (which, knowing Aziraphale and his hoarding issue, it probably had) and a simple white jumper over what appeared to be a shirt; of course, was all now more waterlogged then the Thames. If it hadn’t been for the bright smile in his eyes, he would have looked the very image of a wet weekend in August. Forgetting, obviously, it was June. 

 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called over the torrent as he paced over. “Lovely day isn’t it?” 

“Quite!” Came the shouted response, and it bounced and echoed through the rain around the street. “One of God’s finest I believe!” 

“Well, are you packed?” Crowley asked, having reached his friend. Close up, he could see the rain trickling down Aziraphale’s forehead, and either landing in tiny beads in his eyelashes, or falling gracefully down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. 

“Oh yes.” He replied somewhat smugly. “All ready for our little adventure.” He held up a briefcase, plastered with numerous stickers from all over the world, and waggled it in Crowley’s face. 

“Good. I do hope you have wellies in there;” Crowley peered up into the sky, “I think you may need them.” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale laughed. “Just perhaps.” 

They smiled at each other, and started to walk out of the street in which they had met, towards Paddington station, which was only half a mile or so away, making excitable chit-chat as they went. 

This so called ‘trip’ the two had planned had actually been rather a last minute thing, when about a week ago Aziraphale had burst into Crowley’s flat with one of his large books dangling from his long fingers. He’d explained about some sort of item, a necklace or something, which in fact had some sort of magical properties to it, which, in the wrong hands, would prove to be somewhat difficult. 

“But not to worry!” He had smiled. “I have located it, and it’s hidden presently. It shouldn’t be any trouble to collect.” Apparently it resided somewhere in the moors of Cornwall, so after both wrapping up their seperate business, they agreed to find it together. And Crowley would be a liar if he said he wasn’t excited about spending time with his angel again. 

 

He glanced over at Aziraphale, who was enthusiastically discussing a new series of books he had brought in an auction on Tuesday. His round, Crystal classes were steamed up with his warm breath battling the rain, and the odd streak of water could be seen making its way down their lenses, exposing his impossibly blue eyes underneath. He was smiling as he talked, as if his new books were the most glorious things on this side of the equator, and his hands moved along with his words in their own complex language, showing how passionate Aziraphale really was. Crowley, although not listening to the story, listened to the sound of his friend’s voice, and was reminded of how much he liked it when the blonde went into one of his rants like this. 

 

Finally though, Aziraphale was cut off by their arrival at the station, which, unlike the streets they had just been walking, was full of people of all different colours in their separate raincoats. Taxis were frantically loading and unloading people, men in suits and women in heels ran for them, and couples stood under the shelter holding hands and grimacing at the thought of going out into the very British weather. 

 

The unlikely duo plunged themselves into the chaos and made their way into the dry warmth of the huge station. 

“It says we board at platform twelve.” Aziraphale said looking at a pair of tickets he’d produced from a miraculously dry coat pocket. Crowley scanned the screens, and sure enough, in ten minutes their train for Truro would be leaving from that platform. 

 

“You better have gotten first class.” Crowley mumbled, glaring at all the people moving around him. “I don’t want to be in a carriage with about sixty other people.” 

“Of course I did, who do you take me for? Honestly.” Aziraphale swatted at Crowley before sauntering over to their platform, his coat leaving a trail of driping water behind him. Crowley followed, and if everyone around him tripped over on said water and fell- he would have said it was nothing to do with him. 

First class was infact, not as good as Crowley would have hoped. He would certainly say that the railway had changed alot since he had last bothered riding it, which had been fifty or so years ago. Aziraphale had chosen two seats which were next to each other, and so far the only difference Crowley could tell from economy class was that they had a tiny bit more leg room and a table infront of him. 

He shrugged off his backpack (as if he was going to keep his things in something like a  _ briefcase  _ for Hell’s sake) and dumped it on the table before taking his seat. Azriraphele had sat down allready next to the window, and he was staring out of it intently at all the people going by. Crowley realised with a sudden shock that their legs were pressed up against each other, as were their hips, and he found himswlf not really knowing what to do. Aziraphale had miracled his coat dry, so he was warm, and the demon wished he was touching more of his friend. 

 

Soon the bells sounding departure sounded, and the train pulled away from the station, and into the rain. 

 

“How long is this jouney meant to take?” Crowley asked unzipping his bag and getting out his phone (which was the new Iphone X- as if he would settle for anything else). 

 

“Four hours. This is a fast track train so we won’t be stopping untill we get to Truro.” The Angel replied. “It’ll give me time to finish my new book.” 

“Is all you ever do read?” Crowley asked, despite knowing the answer. 

“Just because you don’t have the attention span-“ 

“Oh I do. I just choose to spend my time with more  _ interesting  _ entertainment.” 

“And what would that be then?” 

Crowley took out his headphones from his bag. 

“Game of Thrones.” 

“That was a book!” 

Crowley gave a grimacing smile and put his headphones in before starting the show, blatantly trying to look really invested in it to make a show to Aziraphale, who was rolling his eyes. 

 

They stayed in comfortable silence for a few hours, the only sounds being the rain pattering on the roof and the quiet chatter drifting through from economy class. Aziraphale would laugh every now and again reading, causing his torso and shoulders to shake slightly and his cheeks to blush as he tried to contain his giggles. Since Crowley was so flush against the angel, he could feel all of this, and had to desperately try to bat away any thoughts of leaning in closer. 

 

“Comedy then?” Crowley pointed to the book, which looked quite modern for his friends usually classic taste. 

“Yes. I’m at this part where the main character-well he-“ 

 

Their conversation continued through the hours as the english countryside sped past their window. It ranged from many a thing- books to music (which caused countless debates) but finally settled on the job at hand. 

“So what’s so important about this damn thing anyway?” 

“Well;” Aziraphale started, “it gives the wearer the ability to see past the veil as it be.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yes, quite an issue for us. Also, the poor human wearing it won’t have any idea what it does, and seeing our true forms, other humans souls, and whatever else is lingering under the veil will probably not only scare the life out of them, but possibly cause them to implode.” 

“Sounds like fun.” 

“No!” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Not fun. Not for the cleaners anyway.” 

“So what’re we going to do when we get it again? Keep it? Sell it? I bet it would probably go for quite a hit on the Supernatural Black Market, think of all the-“ 

“No Crowley. We’re going to destroy it.” 

“You really suck the fun out of everything you know that.” The demon in question moaned. 

“I do not. I’m just responsible, unlike you.” 

“Please. I wasn’t the one who needed saving in France because  _ he wanted some crèpes.”  _

_ “ _ They always taste better over there and you know it.” Aziraphale crossed his arms, just as the overhead announcement called twenty minutes to arrival, and Crowley laughed. 

“You’re not wrong there.” 

Truro station was nothing like Paddington, small, quiet and without a roof, but still full of shops perfectly designed to attract tourists that were full of crap (Cowley had taken all the credit for them- they were so God-awful, how could he not). 

Outside was also a lot quieter- no taxis or busy businessman- just the odd collage student walking with their earphones in, and a few elderly people walking dogs. Thankfully it wasn’t raining here, but it was still clouded and far too cold for a June day. 

“Where to now?” Crowley asked, squinting at the sky through his sunglasses. 

“The place I’ve rented is only a small walk, I chose to stay here because its central cornwall. Quaint really isn't it?” He smiled at the bunting which lined the streets, and at all the old cobbled houses and streets. It was a very Aziraphale place Crowley thought, all pale and pastel in colour, full with unnecessary clutter like pot-plants and lanterns, and brimming with character. 

“Hm.” 

“I have heard about some very good places to eat here- apparently there is an impeccable Mexican restaurant here.” 

“Do they sell alcohol?” 

“Well they must do-“ 

“That's where we’re going tonight then.” 

The demon flashed a brilliant white grin at his friend, and received a small smile back, which could also have been described as ‘quaint.’ 

It turned out the place Aziraphale had rented was about as old as they were- or at least it looked it. It was an old apartment at the very top of a three storied Tudor house, which Crowley truly believed would collapse at any moment. He took a deep sniff of the air in the winded staircase they were climbing, and swore he could smell damp. 

“Well, here we are…” Aziraphale unlocked the door, and pushed it open forcefully, revealing their home for the next week. 

“Not too bad eh?” He placed his hands on his hips proudly, and evaluated the room. 

“Not too bad? Aziraphale- this place is older than us!” Crowley surveyed the room for himself, and found it to be somewhat of a multi-purpose place. The kitchen, small table with only space for two, and sofa were all here, and two doorways that supposedly led off to the bedrooms. 

“Its a shit hole.” He grimaced, wiping his finger across a surface and lifting it up to find plenty of dust.

Aziraphale just ignored him, too busy with taking off his now dry shoes, and hanging his trenchcoat on the back of the door like the domestic little shit he was. 

Crowley threw off his glasses and sauntered off to see if the bed-rooms were just as bad, planning to claim the best one while the angel was preoccupied. But, to his absolute horror (because that  _ was  _ what the emotion was and definitely not some sort of disgusting, self indulgent joy) found there to only be one. With a double bed. 

“Angel!” He yelled. “Where’s the other bedroom?” 

“Oh- I’m not sure,” he mumbled coming through the door. “Perhaps…” 

He opened another door but only found the bathroom, and at realising what this implied, squeaked. 

“Did you read the website?” Crowley spat. 

“Yes.” 

“Then why-“ 

“Well I saw the cheap price, and the words ‘great view’, and I clicked-“

“You literally have so much money. You can  _ miracle  _ money! Why go for a cheap price?” 

“I don’t know, I liked the aesthetic?” He tried.

“Oh yes lovely.” The red head sneered. “Pity there’s only one bloody bed!” 

“Well you can go elsewhere. I’m staying here.” 

To make his point the angel lobbed his briefcase onto the bed, and it exploded sending all his clothes everywhere. 

“Oh no. I saw this bed first. I was here first. Its mine.” Crowley scooped up Aziraphale’s clothes, and dumped them on the floor, before laying his own jacket on it. 

“Now that's hardly fair. I’m paying for this entire trip.” Aziraphale miracled all his clothing back into the briefcase with a snap of his fingers. 

“Because I payed for the last one!” Crowley interjected. 

“Irrelevant.” 

Crowley sighed and brushed the bit of hair flopping in his eyes out of the way. 

“Well sleep on the sofa.” 

“I think not.  _ You  _ sleep on the sofa.” The Angel threw back.

“No.” 

“Well then.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, both as stubborn and insufferable as each other. 

“Well, I’m sleeping on this side then.” Aziraphale once again placed his brief-case on the other side of the bed, and made a ‘hrumph’ sound. 

Crowley knew what this was. It was a test, the chance to see if he would back down, and like Hell he would. He was as adamant as his counterpart, and twice as competitive, he could play this game all day. 

“Fine.” He sniffed, shrugging off his backpack and dumping it on the bed. “But I warn you, I talk in my sleep.” 

Neither commented on how technically, they didn’t need sleep at all, almost as though it were an unspoken agreement. Before unpacking, Aziraphale sent Crowley a more intimate, shy smile, before turning away and Crowley was left feeling somewhat thrown off guard and unsure what to do with himself. 

**XXX**   
  


The mexican was actually quite the ‘little gem’ as Aziraphale called it, it was very homely, with hundreds of tiny lanterns strung up from the roof, huge street paintings on the wall, and numerous bars with different types of bars offering all sorts of alcohol, much to Crowley’s delight. 

“Did you book Sir?” A waitress dressed in a colourful  apron asked over her clipboard. 

“Yes. Under the name of Fell?” The blond next to Crowley asked. 

“If you would follow me.” 

They walked through the restaurant, until they got to a small table in the corner, which had a large candle sat in the middle of it. 

 

“Oh! This is lovely! Thank You.” Aziraphale took off his coat and sat down. 

“Enjoy your date sirs!” The waitress winked at Aziraphale and walked off. 

“No, it's not a-“ Crowley tried, but the girl was already out of ear-shot. 

“Did you hear that! The cheek!” He collapsed into his chair with his arms crossed. 

“Oh please- it was a simple mistake. Don’t let it ruin the evening.” His friend muttered, already scanning the menu through his thick glasses. 

“I mean, why would she make that assumption? Do we look like we’re on a date?” Crowley frantically looked between the pair of them, ignoring his friend. 

“Crowley.” 

“Awful really. She should be-“ 

“Crowley  _ please.  _ Am I really that disgusting you wouldn’t want to be seen with me like that? Get over it.” 

That hit something Crowley didn’t know existed, right in the chest. That, that wasn’t the issue at all. Surely Azirphale knew  _ that.  _

“I didn’t mean it like that Azi-“ 

“Crowley.” That was a warning to let it go, so he did- reluctantly. 

 

He decided to hide behind the menu, and even he had to admit the food sounded good. He walked up to one of the bars (since it was all self-service) and ordered himself a complex, bright blue and green cocktail. He watched with great interest as it was made, and gazed at it lustfully as it was placed in front of him. He placed the money required on the bar top and carefully carried it back to the table to see Aziraphale had gotten himself a milkshake. 

“A milkshake? Really?” 

“I happen to like them.” 

Crowely placed a straw in his drink and glugged about half of it, delighted at the taste. The food was just as good too, and although his friend probably ate far too much and he definitely drank beyond a safe limit, they had a joyous evening with chatter and laughter. 

Crowley took the bill, and then they both left, with Aziraphale suffering from that awful feeling after eating too much, and Crowley swaying from tipsyness. He sidestepped around Aziraphale’s orbit as they walked back, talking loudly about the most stupid things. 

Locals glared at the pair of them, but Crowley didn’t care. 

“And, and I always wondered why the anti-christ got a hell-hound but not *hic* me? I mean- I created sin! If it weren’t for me there wouldn’t be a hell!” He waggled a ginger at Aziraphale. 

“And what did he do? He just *hic*, just sat there and looked pretty!” 

Aziraphale flashed him a smile again, presumably enjoying the sensation of being sober whilst Crowley was so far gone. 

“I want a Hellhound! A great big one.” 

“And what would you call it?” Aziraphale humoured him. 

“Caesar.” He frowned as if it were the most obvious thing ever. “I knew the bastard you know. Used to dine with him every other Tuesday.” 

“I know.” Aziraphale laughed. “I was there.” 

Their conversations, which were really rather one sided continued for the entirety of their walk back to the apartment. The stars were particularly bright down here, because although Truro was still classified as a city, it had nowhere near the amount of light pollution London did. Crowley thought of his nebula and  the countless planets he had created, all drifting around up there, and wondered if he would ever see them in person again. Maybe he would take his angel with him. That would be nice. Just the two of them, in their real forms. 

Once back in the apartment, Aziraphale miracled a record player, and placed some old crackling record he had taken out of his jacket pocket (another miracle Crowley presumed- he really thought his friend had an entire car stuffed into that blasted pocket). Crowley, with great effort, sobered himself up, and shook his head at the sudden emptiness and control he had regained. 

“Tea?” He asked, walking over to inspect the kettle. 

“Hm, better not. I feel I can’t ever eat again.” He complained, rubbing his stomach. 

“We both know that’s a lie.” Crowley smirked. 

“Yes.” 

Aziraphale left and padded through to the bedroom, and that brought back the dawning realisation to Crowley that they would be sharing a bed. He followed Aziraphale, unsure of what to do. How does one act in this situation? No- how would a  _ Crowley  _ who wasn’t flustered act in this situation? That was the real question.

Confidence, he realised was the key to surviving the night. Without going insane anyway. 

 

“Bed then?” He asked, already kicking off his shoes. 

“Oh yes- that train journey has wiped me clean. I’m cream crackered.” Aziraphale clicked his fingers and the curtains drew, leaving the room suspended in a calm sort of darkness. 

“Do you sleep every night Angel?” Crowley kept his socks on, but stripped down to an old Queen tour T-shirt and comfortable shorts produced from his backpack.

“Turn around.” Aziraphale batted his hand in Crowley’s direction, so the red-head turned his back while presumably the other changed, or miracled himself or whatever. 

“No actually I don’t. I only sleep when I’m partially tired, as you know I had about a three week nap not long after the Apocalypse, but I didn’t sleep at all for any of the eighteenth century. I’m sleeping a lot more now. You can turn around again.” 

Crowley did as he was told, and found Aziraphale to be dressed in matching white,  _ was that lace-  _ pyjamas. His hair was messed as well, his golden curles brushing against the collar of the shirt, and without his glasses, which were now placed on the nightstand, he looked awfully different. Did he look cute, hot, or stupid? It was hard to tell. 

“Getting old.” Crowley jeered. 

“I’m not. I’ve just found I rather enjoy sleep.” He pouted at the demon, and no- that sealed it, he looked hot _ and  _ cute  _ but definitely not stupid.  _

Crowley jumped into the bed to hide and push these thoughts away and busy his mind, because he couldn’t react here, he definitely couldn’t react now! 

Aziraphale crawled into the bed next to him, Crowley clapped his hands under the covers and the record player and lights from the other room turned off, which only solidified the darkness to a greater length.

The angel was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and fiddling with the covers with his small hands. Hands Crowley knew could kill with a mere flick, but instead chose to bless and heal. Part of him admired that- the want to do good- but another part of Crowley sneered at it. Because everyone, no matter how glorious, must have urges, must have temptations- that was why he had fallen. He couldn’t comprehend how with all that power, Aziraphale only used it for minor things like making pockets bigger and others wants. 

Crowley shuffled, unable to get comfy, and tried laying on his side away from the other person in his bed. Perhaps the lack of distraction would in the end lure him to sleep.

“Crowley..” 

No such luck. 

“Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones here.” He deadpanned.

“Are you going to sleep?” 

“No, that's why I’m lying here with my eyes shut.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence ensured, but only for a short time. 

“Well I will too then.” 

“Shut up.” Crowley turned over suddenly and glared at his friend. “I’m not ever going to sleep if you keep chatting!” 

He tried to be threatening, but Aziraphale just giggled- prooving he was immune to Crowley’s antics. 

“Okay- I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound it.

“You should be you sod, m’tired.” 

“Go to sleep then.” 

“Why don’t you just fuck off and let me?” 

“Sofa’s open. I also saw a lovely little spot on the floor erlia, looked quite delightful-“ 

“I’m not moving.” Crowley buried under the covers further to prove his point, but to his great shock his leg brushed against the angel’s, causing a jolt of sharp, familiar emotion to rush through him. 

‘ _ Please not now,’   _ He pleaded inside.  _ ‘Not while he’s this close.’  _

“You know the last time I had a sleepover with anyone was with Osar.” Aziraphale mentioned thoughtfully, as if nothing had happened. (To be fair- it really wasn't anything- not a big deal at all) 

“Oscar Wilde?” 

“Yep. He snored though- I wouldn’t recommend it, he was a cuddler too.” Aziraphale looked fondly into the blank space on the ceiling, clearly lost in memories. 

“I wish he weren't dead. I’d like to see him again.” He sighed. 

“Is he in my place or yours now?” Crowley asked. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous of a human, let alone a dead human, but he was. He couldn’t let it show though, he knew how much he had meant to his friend. 

“Mine last time I checked. His soul was quite happy resting there- he didn’t know it was me, but he knew it was an angel.” He mumbled. “I never did tell him. And besides- I can’t visit him anymore- I can’t go back home.” 

Crowley was lost for words and feeling guilty about being jealous.

“Well you have me.” He tried. 

Aziraphale turned, and smiled at Crowley, the same rare, shy smile he had given erlia. 

“Yes, I do.” 

“I’m no Oscar Wilde though.” 

“No, but that's okay.” One of Aziraphale’s hands crept out of the covers and lightly brushed some of Crowley’s messed up hair out of his eyes. The jolt sent green electricity through the demon’s human blood, and he tried not to lean into the touch, and failed. 

“You’re not so bad really.” He muttered, and withdrew his hand. 

“And you’re not so good.” 

They stared at each other across the darkness, and then Aziraphale closed his eyes.

“Night then.” 

“Good night Angel.” 

It wasn’t long before his friend did indeed start drawing in longer breathes, and exhaling calmly. His breathing was in sink to the light patter of rain that had started to fall on the window, and the harmony it created lured Crowley to sleep. 

Before he left his conscious mind though, his last thoughts were how odd this week was surely going to turn out to be. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the hunt starts!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all- I didn’t think I would be able to update this as quick as I have- so don’t get used to the quick updates. It will probs take a week or so in future. 
> 
> Anyhow- this chapter was so much fun to write- enjoy it all lovelies! Have a good week. X

“Oatmeal?” Crowley scoffed. “Who the fuck eats oatmeal?” 

“Me.” Aziraphale mumbled between mouthfuls. “Its nice.” 

He was still bleary eyed, and sat in those  _ damn cute  _ pajamas at the small table, with a large spoon resting in his hands. Crowley himself had only woken up about ten minutes ago- thankfully (because he wouldn’t know how to react if he hadn’t) to an empty bed, and Aziraphale’s mumbling from next door. 

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the oatmeal and miracled himself some coffee, and simply stuck to drinking that.

“I slept well, did you?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Yep.” Crowley sniffed. “I always do.” 

“Oh that's good!” His friend spooned another amount of that vile substance into his mouth and smiled.”You not having any breakfast?”

“Nah, don’t fancy it.” 

Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley did not enjoy eating a huge amount, he preferred drinking, and that would always be his passion. 

“Where’s this thing then. I hope it isn’t far.” 

“Well, I know it’s in a cave somewhere on the West Coast.” 

“Could you get any more stereotypical?” Crowley moaned. He’d been hoping to collect the item from some jewellery dealer, or to pick it up out of an antique shop, then lounge around for the rest of the holiday. Maybe sleep a bit, get a tan, and get drunk. 

“Well it was hidden there by royalty in the sixteenth century after an incident occurred when it was presented as a gift. It was wiped off records and had not been seen since.” Aziraphale finished his breakfast and clapped, so the bowl and remains of cereal were gone, ceasing to exist. 

“And we can’t just leave it there because….” 

“Because new technology will ensure that humans will find it, and whatever else it’s buried with eventually. And better safe than sorry.”

“I guess.” Crowley sighed. 

He finished his coffee, and it burnt his tongue as he gulped it down. 

They both changed, in speperate rooms this time, Crowley in the bathroom and Aziraphale in the bedroom. (Which was stupid, since they didn’t even need to change, they could just miracle clothes.) 

Crowley supposed it was a good thing the sun was out today, it’d been raining the past week- he believed the BBC had even nicknamed the whole thing a ‘monsoon’ - so it was nice to see a change. He always prefured warm weather- somehow the cold always manadged to get under his skin. 

They both set out at about nine in the end, and as they made their way down the curling stairs, Crowley wondered where they would start looking. 

“Well I believe I can sense it’s holy magic, if it is as strong as my book says. The closer we get, we can just look past the veil, and hopefully we’ll see it.” 

“Are you saying we’re going to drive along the Cornwall coast line untill you ‘feel it’?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why couldn’t you let me bring the Bentley? That would have saved the train trips as well.” 

“I don’t like your diving.” 

Crowley sighed and opened the front door for his friend. 

“Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything about me you like.” 

Aziraphale stopped and glared at the Demon.

“That's not true and you know it. Stop trying to manipulate me. I am not riding in your Bentley if you’re diving it, so there.” He crossed his arms.

Crowley pouted. 

“What do you suggest then?” 

Aziraphale grinned

“We fly.” 

‘ _ Oh. Oh yes. That is a brilliant plan my angel.’  _ He thought. ‘ _ It's been ages since I flew properly.’  _

That much was true, London with all its tall buildings, numerous airports, huge population and constant monetization was not the ideal place at all. Even though humans would never see Crowley’s true wings without an incredibly difficult ritual, or a piece of magical equipment luke this thing they were finding. they would still see some sort of depiction of them, and most likely would most likely panic. When humans panicked Crowley had found, they tended to resort to weapons. It tended to make them feel better, like the bigger the bomb or tank, the bigger the safety blanket. 

Cornwall however was the perfect place for flight now Crowley thought about it- hardly any people, beautiful coastline, huge hills and rolling valleys to dip through, and no large obstructions.

“Now that idea I like.” He answered, trying not to look too excited.

“I thought you may. We won’t get seen here- not at all. Nobody will be looking.” 

“Well then..” 

Crowley looked around, and sure enough, the street was deserted. So, with enough excitement to compete with a seven year old’s on Christmas morning, he cracked the knuckles in his hands and released his wings from under the veil. His body’s back muscles shuffled appreciatively at the feel of having his wings back, and with a loud satisfied groan, he stretched them high over his head. 

Aziraphale did the same, but, if one can do it politely, rather amiably spread his out. The telling relief in his eyes though, told Crowley it must have felt just as good for the angel as it had for him. Keeping his wings under the veil all the time wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, he forgot most of the time they weren’t really there, but just like taking off a shirt that’s just a smidge too tight at the end of the day, there was something undeniably pleasurable about the whole thing. 

He flapped his wings experimentally, and got the feeling as though he were greeting an old loyal friend.

Aziraphale’s wings, stark white and perfect in every way, as always, enticed Crowley. He was sure, even before he had fallen, his hand  _ never  _ looked like that. They were so incredibly pure- they were everything the angel was and he wasn’t. They were  _ huge  _ too, easily covering a wingspan of almost eight meters, probably even bigger than his by a tiny amount. 

“Well-“ he muttered, mid stretch- “where off to first?” 

Aziraphale, who was also stretching with his hands high above his head and his wings bent downwards just managed to get out the words ‘westwards’ without moaning too much, and Crowley tried not to laugh.  

“I say today we go North, then return here. Tomorrow if we don’t make it all the way up the coastline, we can continue, or if we do, we can just go south.” He finished, speaking normally this time, with his wings folded neatly against his back. They still trailed on the floor though.

“That Angel, sounds like a plan!” Crowley agreed, before spreading out his wings, and launching himself towards the stars.

The wind hit his face immediately as he climbed high into the sky and he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling immensely. There really was nothing like the feeling of flight, the freedom and speed it gave him was incredible. As Truro and its Cathedral rapidly became smaller below his feet, the few white clouds that sat lazily in the sky above grew closer until he was near enough to stick up his hand, and trail it through them. He was breathing heavily, and decided that perhaps, since the apocalypse, he had let his fitness slide a tiny amount.

He stopped here, and chose to simply beat his wings, hovering while waiting for Aziraphale. The angel had always been a slower flyer than him, choosing to take in his surroundings and glide through the sky rather than to sprint through it. It was for this reason he was also a stronger flyer, the white-winged man had always been able to fly greater distances as he actually paced himself. He even claimed on one occasion, back in the nineties, he had flown to America to ‘cut down on holiday costs.’

Sure enough, Aziraphale soon came into view, his large wings beating steadily, and he waved to Crowley. His trench coat was flapping behind him, giving the impression of a cloak. .

“Lovely day for flying isn’t it!” He called, his glasses were reflecting the sun and were glinting- almost as though they were glowing. 

“Yeah.” 

“You can’t keep sprinting through Crowley, I’ve told you about this before.” He crossed his arms. “You won’t be able to keep up with me later otherwise.”

“Okay, okay.” Crowley winked at his angel, and saluted briskly. “Whatever you say Sir.” 

They flew together, almost in sync, for about twenty minutes until they reached the coast (Truro was located in the center of the county), and Crowley followed Aziraphale’s lead and landed on the cliff face. 

The grass was long, that type of long grass which only grew where people didn’t visit often, and pretty little purple flowers protruded out of it. The sea sat in front of them, shimmering and shining in the morning sun, smashing the rocks and turning to white foam. The smell of salt was strong, as was the smell of grass and wildflowers. 

“Feel anything’?” 

“No.” 

While Aziraphale paused their search momentarily to try and work out which way was which, Crowley wandered over to the cliff face, judged the height, then angled his body so he was balancing off the edge. He then proceeded to fall off backwards, where he let himself fall for a while, before swooping down and flying back up. He continued to play such games until his friend was finished, when they continued. 

This time they flew lower over the coastline, trailing it slowly and scrutinising everything, but alas, after two or so hours of flying, there was no sign of it, and Azirphale was starting to complain of hunger. 

‘ _ No way has he flown to America.’  _ Crowley thought. ‘ _ His stomach wouldn’t make it.’  _

They were close to reaching the more densely populated seaside town of Newquay so both had landed close by and covered their wings. The journey at Azirahpale’s pace had been incredibly annoying for Crowley, he could have easily made the eleven mile or so journey in fifteen minutes, but he had promised to stay close, so he did. Aziraphale had been very thorough, checking every nook and cranny within the coast line, flying into every cove and landing on every small island. It had been pretty for the first hour, but he started to grow increasingly more tired as time grew on. 

They walked into Newquay, which was very similar to Truro, an old town filled with winding streets, character, and the sense it had been there for a very long time. This was true- Crowley had once visited it in the Middle Ages. 

They found a small shop selling toasties and sandwiches alike, Aziraphale ordered one, Crowley paid for a drink, and they went to sit on a bench by the seafront. They people watched for a while, making small talk and comments on all the passers by, seing who could tell more just by looking into their souls.

“That one there is cheating on his wife.” 

“That girl just got into university.” 

“That man has a boyfriend his parents don’t know about.”

It was a fun game- one they played often while together, and as usual, it ended with who could miracle the most without being noticed. 

Aziraphale changed the colour of someone’s jeans, made a boy an inch taller and gave an old man a hat, Crowley made some poor seagull levitate briefly, gave a man a small mustache, and changed the sea to be going out rather then coming in for high tide. 

Soon though they both got bored, and decided to continue on their journey up the coast line. 

It was evening when they stopped again, the sun dipping below the horizon teasingly, casting that golden sunlight over the land and see that could make anything look beautiful. They had landed in a small bay, surrounded by tall cliffs, and most likely unreachable by any other method than abseiling- or boat. 

The sand was soft- untouched by humans, and a particularly large tree trunk which appeared to be at least a few hundred years old lay on the sand floor. It was stark white- fossilised over time, and it had been presumably washed up after a large storm. It made for a good bench, and Crowley absentmindedly ran his hand over its smooth spine as he gazed at the sea. 

“Do you think the sea’s warm at this time of year?” Aziraphale suddenly asked. 

“Here? Probably not. It is England Angel. Will it ever be warm?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Why?” 

“I must admit I fancied a swim.” 

“A swim?” 

“Yes. It has been some time and all this flying has put me in the mood to try things I haven’t in a while.” 

He shuffled on tree, and his wings which were dropping off the back of it drew a pattern in the sand with their long feathers. Crowley thought it artwork. 

“Would you join me if I did?” The angel cocked his head. 

“Yes.” Crowley smiled. “But I hate the cold- you know that.” 

“I’ll miracle it warmer.” Aziraphale smiled, already standing up. 

What Crowley didn’t expect him to do was to start stripping, and he almost choked on his own tongue when the blonde started to undo his blazer buttons. How had this escalated so quickly? How had any of this happened? This was not good- Crowley could barely stand his friend in those white pijamas- what was he going to do? He  _ always  _ gave in to his temptations- but Aziraphale was the one breakage to the rule. He  _ couldn’t  _ lose control, as much as he wanted to.

That didn’t stop him from also unchanging though. It was like his body, fuelled on excitement and lust was acting on auto-pilot and while his brain, his logic and any form of competence he had screamed for him to stop, he could only hurry up. He kicked off his tight jeans and miracled his boxers into black swimming trunks- then looked up at Aziraphale. 

 

Mistake. 

Big, fucking mistake. 

 

Aziraphale was stood, cursing at sand that had somehow gotten into one of his socks, completely and utterly shirtless, and also only in swim shorts. His body, while not toned, was flat and still wonderfully formed, but what was most beautiful and shocking about him were the gold markings that crossed over his skin and glowed. They looked like lightning, and they started at his chest, over where his human heart sat, and flowed down his body in long, sharp angles to his groin and  _ don't look there Crowley.  _ It was then he realised that these must be Aziraphale’s Angel’s markings, the things that defined him as a celestial being (or as they called them- their accents) - setting him apart from humans and demons alike. Crowley wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss his way along them. 

 

His gaze continued down, and Crowley found his legs looked just as wonderful as his upper body. Long, and just as pale as the rest of him, they appeared somehow both strong and fragile at the same time. And his swim shorts- well they were another story. They weren't particularly tight, but they didn’t leave an awful lot to imagination either. Crowley had to make a particular effort to tear his eyes away. 

Unfortunately Aziraphale caught him staring, and hugged his arms to his chest subconsciously. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my markings before.” He sighed. “They’re not as impressive as the others  I know. Its-“ 

Crowley stopped him mid sentence. 

“What makes you think they’re not impressive?” 

The angel blushed and turned away, sheltering himself with his wings. It was then Crowley realised the markings also ran down his back, and he felt himself go giddy. 

 

“I don’t know. Every other angel has them on their face- and I have mine here. I’m so different.” 

“That's not a bad thing.” 

“Really?” Aziraphale turned and gazed at Crowley, his cheeks flushed. 

“‘Course.” Crowley sniffed. Aziraphale seamed pleased at this, and he uncrossed his arms hesitantly and let them fall to his sides. 

It took Crowley everything not to stare again. Instead he coughed and pointed to the sea- desperate for this entire awkward conversation to end. 

“We going then?” 

That snapped the tension, or whatever it was hanging between them, and the moment was ended. Aziraphale removed his gold-rimmed glasses and nodded.

 

They both ran down to the water's edge like children, and Crowley had to admit- Aziraphale had done a brilliant job on the temperature. It must have been around twenty three degrees, not too warm, but enough to be comfortable. He watched as the water spilled over his feet and drained away again, intrigued at the melodic way the waves washed fell over each other in a rush to get to the sandy shore.  

He then waded further in, until the water sat happily lapping around his waist. His wings were mostly submerged, but he didn’t care- after all the sweat he had built up through flying today- they probably needed the wash. 

“Having fun over there?” Aziraphale asked, he was forming balls made of sea water and suspending them in the air with his hand, then watching as they plopped back into the water. 

“Yeah.” Crowley muttered. He still couldn’t get over Aziraphale’s accents- they were in his opinion far more beautiful than any other angel’s. He looked like he had been kissed by a storm, and the intensity of their glow was sur-real. He’d never even cast a thought to his markings (or lack of) before, but now he had seen them for the first time- he decided never to stop thinking about them again. 

He walked out further into the water, and stood close to his friend, before diving underwater and swimming around. Since he didn’t need to breathe, he stayed under there for at least five minutes, gazing at the patterns the fading sunlight made on the rocky, sandy floor, and smiled at small crabs and tiny fish that swam by. 

 

Soon he resurfaced and saw that Aziraphale was spinning round in circles playing with the water. He was forming elaborate patterns and pictures in the air with it, and Crowley found it looked rather like space with all its stunning stars. 

“Are you actually going to come under with me? You did say you wanted to swim.” 

He prodded his back, causing the angel to jump at the contact, and for all the water to suddenly fall due to his lack of concentration. 

“Of course.” He too dove under, and Crowley met him underwater. The angel’s curly hair was floating about underwater, free and almost forming a halo shape. They smiled at each other, and Crowley waved, before kicking off to inspect some rock or something. 

After some time they both broke through the waves avain, and Crowley shook his head- sending water droplets everywhere. Aziraphale was slick wet with water, and  _ far too close  _ to Crowley, and he giggled at the water which landed on him in the face.

In retaliation he flicked some water back, and it soon turned into a full on play fight, with both upping their moveswith every turn. To top it all. the blonde formed entire, huge waves and had them come crashing down on the demon, leaving Crowley confused as to which way was up, and struggling to see which way was up. Ince he had regained the ability to stand, he sent the angel a competitive look and with a flick of his wrist sent Aziraphale high in the sky, before dropping him. The angel plummeted and hit the sea like a falling meteor, screaming the entire time in enjoyment, and Crowley sighed fondly. 

This was definitely one of the best evenings of his life.

Much later they sat on a towel which they had miraculously found waiting for them on the beach, both with their wings extended, waiting for them to dry.

“We should come on holiday more.” Aziraphale said. 

“Yes.” Replied Crowley, and he yawned. “This much fun is tiring though.” 

“You find  _ everything  _ tiring.” 

“Its sloth Angel. One of the seven deadly sins. Practically engraved in my bones.” He flipped onto his back and laid down, placing his head into his folded arms. 

“Or you’re a slow old man.” 

“Nope.” He laughed. 

After a while though, their wings were dry, and Crowley knew reluctantly that if they were to get back at any reasonable hour at Aziraphale’s slower pace- they’d better get a move on. 

 

He voiced as such, and was given a positive response. They changed, and took to the skies, leaving behind their little bubble of bliss. He was sad to see it go, but he supposed that it would always be there.

 

Thankfully, the journey back wasn’t nearly as long, Aziraphale was more reluctant to allow Crowley to fly at his pace, and although he didn’t sprint it, they did make it back in about forty minutes. (Which was pretty fast considering they had flown for about sixty miles in the whole day. While Angels and Demons could actually fly very, very fast for a very long time, it required them to be in their true forms, or to harvest power from them, and this was a very dangerous act. The human body they had to inhabit just couldn’t take it, and would likely implode, or die due to exhaustion.) 

 

They both took time to shower, Crowley resisting hard not to relieve all the pent up emotions in his body for two reasons- one; the walls were  _ very  _ thin and celestial creatures had amazing hearing, and two; it just didn’t feel right with him here. 

They both fell into bed exhausted around eleven, and Crowley couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to share any other intimate moments like the night before. He hoped so.

He was still thinking about the angel’s accents, and how easy it would be to just reach out and trace them through the white cloth of his pajamas, but he knew that was a bad idea. Aziraphale would surely scowl at him, and say  _ ‘it wasn't fitting for people in their position’ as a  _ way to let him down politely, because at the end of the day, he was still a gentleman. He grumbled at the thought. He had fallen- and could have anything he wanted- anything of course- but the thing he desired most. Most likely another cruel punishment God had sent him. He believed this more every second that passed. 

 

“Oh shoot!” The Angel in question sat bolt upright suddenly. 

“What?” Crowley frowned from the pillow, and looked up at him. 

“I left my glasses at the beach.” He pouted. “I’d go back and get them- but the tide’s probably in now. And to think I have had them three hundre-“ 

“Oh quit whining.” Criwley groaned, and he sat up. “I saw you leaving them and I picked them up. Check my jacket pocket, I’m not getting up” He flopped back down into the bed. 

 

Sure enough, Aziraphale soon returned to bed with the glasses in his hands, and he smiled down at Crowley almost affectionately. 

“Oh thank you! Thank you so much Crowley!” He carefully placed the glasses on the bedside cabinet and shuffled closer to the demon. 

“You do have a heart you know that.” 

Crowley pushed his face into the duvet to hide its blush. 

“Well don’t go around screaming it. I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“Mmhm. I sure won’t.” He laid down. “Thanks for today.” 

“You too Angel.” He yawned. 

Crowley was already starting to drift off- his human body screaming for rest and a break. Aziraphale also seemed tired, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“What would I do without you my dear?” He whispered into the darkness. “You really do mean everything to me.” 

 

But Crowley was already asleep. Se deeply asleep he missed the angel stroking his hair and he missed him staring at his slightly parted lips and whimpering. He missed all the wonderful things whispered to him in ancient latin, and he missed Aziraphale burying himself under his arms, and hugging him dearly. 

 

But- of course- the angel wouldn’t have dared do any of these things had Crowley been awake, so really, the question had to be asked if Crowley had missed anything at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Idea about Zira’s accents comes from joliemariella’s fanart on Tumblr- go check it out!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper look into everyone’s emotions as the search continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It starts getting a bit angsty here- sorry guys. I do love writing angst though so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I love putting these characters through pain. Haha. 
> 
> Have a good week everyone though, thank-you all for the constant support! Love you all!

The next morning Crowley woke up with sunlight shards falling through the window to rest on his face, and he sleepily squirmed to get out of the light. Only, he found he couldn’t.

He frowned and squinted in the morning brightness, his mind was still half asleep and pleading Crowley just to close his eyes and sink back into blissed unconsciousness. He was about to give in when a slight noise brushed his ear, and it was then he realised why he couldn’t move.

Aziraphale was draped over him, his arm flung over Crowley’s waist, and legs woven between his. His nose, still breathing heavily, was pressed into the nape of the demon’s neck, and his body could not be placed any closer if he tried.

_They were spooning._

Crowley let out a stuttered breath, and found suddenly, he was very much awake. His friend was warm, so, so warm it was actually unnatural. Warm, and firm, and soft, and all perfect in every way possible. Aziraphale’s trouser bottoms must have ridden up during the night, because bare legs were pressing heavily against Crowley’s own bare legs, and it was so intimate he thought he honestly may combust. All of these thoughts, where specific parts of Aziraphale’s body in particular were made Crowley shiver.

‘ _Oscar Wilde is a cuddler my arse.’_ Crowley thought. ‘ _It was Aziraphale- not him!’_

He wasn’t about to start complaining though. This was a once in a lifetime experience, and Crowley certainly wasn’t going to pass it up.

If only he could keep himself composed for long enough.

He wiggled his legs seeking out more of his friend’s softness and warmth; exploring just how high the pajamas had ridden up, and although it wasn’t physically possible, he tried to press his body more into Aziraphale’s. Just as he was growing accustomed to the feeling, and starting to enjoy it rather than being panicked by it, the angel started to stir.

Maybe it’d been Crowley’s small movements? Or perhaps his quickened breathing, but much to his horror and disappointment, the blonde was definitely starting to wade out of sleep. Crowley let his limbs go limp- hoping to feign sleep because no way was he being caught awake like this.

A soft moan drenched in tiredness and morning drowsiness was breathed into Crowley’s neck, making the hair there stand on end. The mattress shifted, and Aziraphale presumably moved over, due to the lack of body heat that suddenly slapped the demon in the back.

He discreetly reached out ever so slightly to Aziraphale’s true form’s consciousness, a technique he’d mastered during his time in Hell and prodded at the thoughts there. While he purposely didn’t feel the emotions (he did respect the angel’s privacy after all) he could tell they were slowly becoming more aware- a sure sign he was soon to be fully awake. If he’d had a working heart- it would have dropped. Their moment was over.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale yawned softly.

Crowley stayed silent and unmoving, holding some weak hope the angel would just give up and just fall back into bed- and maybe continue to cuddle him.

But no such luck. Aziraphale breathed out deeply, stretched his back (causing a worrying amount of bones to crack in the most _disgusting_ manner), and got up. In the reflection of the window, Crowley could see his blonde hair tumble in long curls into his sleep-glazed, squinting eyes; and with the light falling on his face the way it was, it honestly couldn’t be more obvious he was an angel.

He then padded out of the room, leaving Crowley alone though. his body heat still warmed the bed. A kettle being switched on distantly could be heard from next door, and Crowley sighed.

One hug that had lasted more than _two bloody seconds,_ that was all he’d wanted.

Could it even be called a hug?

That was a point.

Had Aziraphale meant to hug him?

Maybe it’d been an accident.

He was a very affectionate person after all, often seeking out physical contact like patting Crowley’s shoulder for example, or gently playing footsie with him under the table. Hell, Crowley had even seen him hug the odd human who was having a bad day, or hold a small child’s hand. It was nothing unusual.

This affection Crowley realised, must have escaped past the angel’s normal conscious barriers, and weaved their way into his sleeping body, making him latch onto the demon the way he did.

‘ _And anyway.’_ Crowley contemplated, _‘he left as soon as he woke up. I should have done the same.’_

He sighed again at the realisation.

After ten or so minutes of similar thinking, his mood plummeting with every second, he finally arose, and muttered something about greeting the day before venturing next door.

The morning passed similarly to the last- flying that started off as fun then got continuously more boring as time went by.

Crowley felt glum most of the time- still submerged in his melancholy grey thoughts of this morning. The clouds were also grey- and he thought with a small insignificant smile it was rather fitting. It was colder this day too, around thirteen degrees.

“The weather really is detestable recently.” Aziraphale had called over wind while they were searching some beach. “Yesterday has been the only decent day we’ve had in weeks.”

Crowley had shrugged.

“And to think this is summer.” The blond had shoved his hands in his pockets, and sensing that Crowley wasn’t in a talkative mood, said no more.

Oddly enough though, despite being glum, Crowley couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. It was only a small feeling, in fact it barely even registered in his fully attentive mind, but no doubt about it, it was there nagging at the back of his thoughts.

He checked the area around him once, maybe twice, feeling out with his true form in much the same way he’d done this morning, but he didn’t feel any other fully conscious human or celestial minds nearby (plenty of animals and plants though), so he let it drop, putting it down to the bad mood he was in. That didn’t mean he could shake it off though, infact it stayed with him all morning.

Around mid morning they had finally reached the top of the Cornwall coastline with no more leads at all. While it pissed off Crowley, it confused Aziraphale, who could currently be seen scratching his head. They were both sat on a cliff face, legs and wings dangling off the edge, watching the waves (which seemed calmer this day) as they smashed against the rocks below. Crowley was fiddling with a pebble he’d pocketed a few beaches down, turning it over in his hands.

“I just don’t get it.” Aziraphale hummed.

“Well it’s probably just further down south.”

“Yes, But one would have thought- ah never mind. We have forever to search.”

“I do hope not Angel.” Crowley tutted. “I’m not doing this forever.”

“Oh come off it. This is better than any work from our superiors- and you know it.”

“Whatever.” He said, and lobbed the stone into the sea. The small, insignificant ‘plop’ it made wasn’t as satisfying as he had hoped.

Aziraphale pretended not to notice his childish act of anger, and stood up.

“Are you going to be in a mood all day then?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m not in a ‘mood.’ Whatever made you think I was in a ‘mood?’” The demon  imitated the blond’s rich southern accent (not particularly well) earning himself an eye roll.

“That tone.” He crossed his arms, but dropped the subject, thankfully.

Crowley hardly wanted to confess the reason he was pouting was because he hadn’t had a longer cuddle this morning.

With a sigh Aziraphale helped Crowley up. “Come on. Bude’s nearby, and there’s a rare bookshop there, which also sells vinyl.” He gestured in some direction, seemingly towards this ‘Bude.’ “That’ll cheer you up.”   


**_XXX_ **

 

The book shop, named something old and poetic, did in fact, cheer Crowley up. It was decorated wonderfully, mixing sleek modern furniture with rustic, ancient architecture and decor. It was a perfect, stylish yet homely mixture of the two.

The books as well proved to excite Aziraphale wonderfully, he seemed to be always smiling as he flicked through box upon box of wonderfully smelling paperbacks. He’d already placed a stack of all his chosen hardbacks onto the till counter, making the shop owner smile too. The vinyl proved to be decent too, and Crowley picked himself out some Nirvana and Fleetwood Mac albums. Throughout his time in the shop he couldn’t help but check behind him every twenty minutes or so, and at one point he’d even walked over to the window to survey the street, but much the same as before, nobody was paying either of them any attention at all it seemed.  


He was thrown out of his light paranoia though by a small tap on the shoulder.

He turned and saw Aziraphale cradling a book in his hands, while looking up at Crowley like he’d been burnt.

“What?” He frowned.

He looked down at the book, and suddenly understood. It was a copy of ‘Intentions’ by Oscar Wilde, and looking at the poor state of the ever so slightly torn pages and discoloured cover, perhaps a first edition.

“Wow. Must be rare. Don’t you already have this one though?” He frowned, but Aziraphale shook his head.

“No. I lost this copy in the nineteen-fifties. I left it on a buss.” He carefully flipped through the pages until he reached the last page, where he turned the book so Crowley could read.

“But look.”

He passed the book over.

**‘** **_To my dear Aziraphale,’_ **wonderfully curled handwriting, faded with time read.

**_‘Know that this book could not have been written without your help and input. I can't thank you enough for supporting me in my numerous journeys, and here’s to many more books being published.’_ **

Then, at the bottom of the page, it was signed.

**_‘Always your friend, Oscar.’_ **

“Oh.” Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale almost crying, his lips trying hard to stay in a straight line, and his eyes glistening with the threat of tears.

“Oh Aziraphale.”

“I never thought I’d see this again, and now- well- and now here it is. All the way down here.” He closed the book carefully. “This was the first one he gave to me.”

He really did look like he was crying now, so Crowley did what came naturally and pulled him in for a hug, whilst being careful not to squish the book. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man and brought his head to rest on his shoulder, while rubbing small circles into his back with his hands.

‘ _I know.’_ He said, without saying anything at all. _‘I know, I know, I know.’_

His shoulder didn’t get wet at all- so Aziraphale must have controlled himself enough not to cry completely, but he was still whimpering a little, and it made Crowley glad he was there to look after the angel. This entire trip for whatever reason was clearly digging up old memories for Aziraphale (and although Crowley had no idea what those memories actually were), he wanted to comfort the other as much as possible.

After three or so minutes, the Angel pulled away, and nodded- clearly composing himself. “I- I’m sorry- so sorry my dear.” He shook his head and backed off. “I really-“

“Its okay.” Crowley said simply. “You don’t need to explain yourself.”

Aziraphale beamed and hugged Crowley again- but this time it was short and soft- a thankyou the demon realised.   


“Excuse me Sir?”

They were both interrupted by a man, standing at their side, with a concerned look on his face. Crowley glared at him- but this did nothing to deter him.

“Is he okay?” He pointed at Aziraphale- and Crowley was about to come back with some heated remark to scare him off when the blond unwrapped himself out of his arms, and stood up straight.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I am.”

“Are you sure? It's just- I’ve seen that look on someone before. I understand.” The man then gave a kind smile- aggravating the demon further. He was treading on a thin line whoever he was. He had no right at all to just butt in like this.

“I think we’re completely fine without your-“

“Crowley; behave.” He was stopped mid threat with a swatting from Aziraphale- who then turned back to the man.

“No, thank you. I’m quite alright I can assure you.” He lifted the book. “I’ve just been looking for this book for an awful long time- it belongs to my family you see but it was lost a few generations ago. I'm just glad to get it back.“

Crowley was shocked- but maybe not surprised- at the way the lie rolled effortlessly of the Angel’s tongue. That was usually his job!

“Ah I understand now.” The man nodded. “What a relief that must be!”

He extended his hand, and Aziraphale shook it.

“I’m Richard Kwaad.”

“Aziraphale.”

He turned to Crowley- who was getting more and more annoyed by the minute.

“And you’re Crowley I must presume. A pleasure.” Kwaad offered his hand out the same way he had done to Aziraphale- but it was not shaken this time. Kwaad was left hanging, and he looked up at Criwley awkwardly p, before redrawing the hand, and letting it flop to his side.

“Angel I’m going to be browsing the Vinyl. Enjoy your chat.” Crowley left the conversation and turned on his heel- then sauntered off. It wasn’t unusual for Aziraphale to make friends wherever he went- he seemed to have this charm that many humans found compelling- and whilst sometimes it could be very useful- mostly it was a hindrance to Crowley and his plans.

He grumpily shifted through the vinyl sleeves, and his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

What had Aziraphale’s relationship with Wilde been he wondered. Had it been playtonic? Maybe. Then again- it could have been more. But Aziraphale wasn’t a sexual being- what with being an angel and all, unless of course he tried really, really hard. And it seemed that Wilde had held similar feelings for Aziraphale too (not that Crowley could blame him- _it was Aziraphale after all_ ).

He was starting to wish he hadn’t taken that century long nap- it seemed he’d missed out on a lot of important things.

About half an hour later Aziraphale wondered back over- the other man Kwaad or whatever his name was having disappeared (thankfully) from sight. He was still clutching the book to his chest like it was his child, as well as a few others.

“You would never guess what.” He motioned.

“What.” Crowley deadpanned.

“There’s no reason to be rude Crowley.”

“Oh come off it. What is it?”

He smiled widely. “Well, that wonderful fellow back there, who by the way, I think you acted quite awfully owards-“

“Skipping past that bit.”

“Yes yes, well, as luck would have it his relative was the Duke of Cornwall or something, and he owns this big estate.”

“Oho! Good choice in acquaintances angel!”

“Wait that’s not all of it. He’s having this big party on Thursday- a masquerade ball apparently.”

“Do people even have those anymore? Jesus Christ what a toff.” Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“No- Crowley wait. And don’t swear like that, I’ve told you before. He’s invited us.”

“To the party?”

“Yes.”

“But he barely knows us!” Crowley thought it ridiculous.

“Well he was rather taken with me thankfully for you. It seems that almost anyone of importance in Cornwall is going- so there will be rather a lot of people there.” Aziraphale chatted as he paid for all of his books (a grand total of six grand- which certainly had the cashier smiling). They walked out of the shop together once Crowley’s vinyl was bagged up too, and out onto the street.

“Well I think it’ll be nice to have an evening out somewhere fancy. Shake things up a bit.” Aziraphale said.

“Yes I suppose that's true. It has been a while since I properly scrubbed up.”

They discussed this and other matters over lunch, but it didn’t last long because Aziraphale wanted to continue the search.

‘ _Especially now we won’t be searching Thursday.’_ He had protested. _‘All the more reason to hurry up.’_

The afternoon soon stretched on with no significant happenings (Crowley flew into a tree at some point because he wasn’t looking at what he was doing- but that _hardly_ counted as significant in his mind. Aziraphale of course thought otherwise.) They flew south, and started searching along the lower part of the cost, but honestly didn’t get too far since it took them so long to get there. The weather had also started to threaten darker clouds and rain.

While the both of them could definitely fly with wet wings it would be considerably harder on their human bodies- since, like hair, feathers when wet become slick and heavy, making it harder to flap and use them. It would also be harder to land and flap wings- so really, the entire process of flying in rain was a write-off.

They ate in, a wonderful meal Aziraphale had miracled, some fancy foreign pizza, and ate it while clouds outside started to pour. Crowley then spent a considerable amount of time going through numerous horrendously expensive websites, trying to choose a suit to wear to this masquerade part later in the week. While he would never pay for it (obviously), he always wanted to pick something to miracle himself that was designed by others, to show off. The mask though, he decided he would make himself. He was thinking something with large ram horns as an inside joke, but he hadn’t decided completely yet.

Aziraphale spent his time curled up on the sofa, legs tucked underneath his chin, reading, holding, and even stroking his newly-acquired Wilde book. Crowley would look over every now and again from the table, and see his gold-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose, and his eyes glazed over, almost like the Angel was lost in a trance.

It was then Crowley finally gave in to his curiosity (what kind of a demon would he be if he didn’t?) and googled Oscar Wilde. Most information he found was fairly basic, stuff taught in schools for teachers to use, or information he already knew.

He tried searching again, this time typing in ‘ **_Oscar Wilde- Aziraphale_ **’ maybe somewhat hoping that by typing in the angel’s name it would lead him more in the direction he wanted.

He questioned his morals once or twice, was it an invasion of privacy? Maybe. But- then again, if it was on the Internet then it was fair game, wasn’t it? Whatever was on there- if anything- wasn’t Aziraphale’s own feelings and thoughts, it was simply research. Yes that was what he would call this project- _research._

Maybe he wasn’t actually expecting anything to come up from the search- or maybe he was hoping- because he was somewhat shocked when an article actually came up. It was about halfway down the second search page- small and insignificant to many on a website that looked like it had a budget of exactly five pounds, but it also held information that stunned Crowley greatly.

The article headline read ‘ **Author Oscar Wilde’s Lost Lover’** , which momentarily sent Crowley’s mind into a panic. He calmed it quickly, deciding that he better read the article, and see how much truth it held, and reschedule his inevitable crisis to after.

The article talked about how after his death, some letters were found while going through his things, but the police lost them before they could ever be recorded. The website’s writer however claimed that one of their ancestors had been one of these gentlemen sorting his house out, and was the one who had come across the letters. Apparently he’d been a fan of Wilde’s work, and decided to keep the letters to spare the man any more of a shadow upon his already outcast literature.

A picture of the letters was then added below, poorly taken, and blurry, but still readable. They were long, and written with great care, Crowley could see that much. With a final glance at Aziraphale, who seemed to be far away taking over Wilde’s writing in his own book and mumbling in some odd language (a mix between Egyptian and Ancient Greek Crowley thought, but he could only make out snippets), he settled down and started to go through the photos.

‘ **Mr Wilde,’** the first letter wrote, in very familiar angelic handwriting.

‘ **I hope you have been faring well. Me- not so much I am afraid, London is terribly busy and noisy these days, with more customers trying to buy my precious books with every day that rolls by-‘**

Crowley scanned through the letter, skipping past the small talk which doubtlessly meant nothing, and started to read the more important parts.

‘ **I’m so glad you are out of prison, though I am still sad to see you leave England. I really will have to visit your new home at some time, and see you again. I hear you have moved near the sea- perhaps we can swim or go for walks along the cliffs together. It will be a wonderful time.**

**I think of you often, and know that despite others opinions of you, I will always be your friend.**

**-Aziraphale.’**

Well, there was now no arguments that these letters were definitely real, and definitely sent from the angel. Crowley continued to read anxiously through them, looking and making a not of all the dates. They seemed to write at least twice a month to each other, but at one point a significant gap between letters was noticed, and he supposed that this was when Aziraphale went to visit. After this the letters started to become more heart-felt and emotional. No declarations were ever made, and nothing was directly said, but the implications were heavy enough. Crowley even realised he had been mentioned at some time, and he smiled fondly at the writing.

**‘I don’t suppose you remember my friend Anthony Crowley I once mentioned.’** Azirahpale had written. _‘_ **Well for the first time in many years I saw him the other day, but we argued over something, and I fear it’ll be a while before I see him again.’** That was certainly true, it wasn’t long after that Crowley had taken his nap. ‘ **He asked me for something, something I can’t give him because I fear for his own health and safety, but I think he believes I’m holding onto it for other reasons. I hope we can patch it up later, I do hate fights as you know.’**

Crowley felt guilty at that, and he grimaced at the words written on the paper. Two hundred years on and he still felt bad.

Then, in November 1990 the letters stopped. In his last, which it seemed he’d never been given the chance to send, Wilde seemed to know what was coming, and if Crowley was honest, the letter seemed more of a eulogy than anything else.

‘ **Dearest Zira.’** The handwriting was poor, and that of an ill man, but still written carefully, as though the writer had put great effort into moving his hand.

‘ **My time on this Earth has not been wonderfully pleasant, and sometimes as I lay here, I see it all. My life plays out behind my closed eyelids, and I re-live every aspect of it, and while it is not an overly enjoyable pastime, it does mean I get to see you again. How long has it been now? A few years at least. Sometimes when I look at you I feel somewhat distorted, almost as though you may not be quite human, and are simply fooling me. What are you if not human though- I’m unsure. I hope to see you again soon, maybe in whatever afterlife will have me.**

**-Oscar.**

Crowley placed his phone down and turned it off. He felt as though his eyes had been burnt out, singed red and raw by the writing in the letters. He felt a whole mixture of emotions, and they were too much to handle, boiling up and threatening to spill out of his mouth in thick red blood.

Anger.

Sadness.

Jealousy.

Dis-belief.

Guilt.

Self hatred.

He made a small choking noise, causing Aziraphale to wake from his trance, and glance up at him.

“Crowley?” He asked. “Are you okay Dear?”

‘ _No.’_ He wanted to say.

“Yes.” He replied. “Tickety-boo as you would say angel.”

“Well if you insist. I’m going to bed now, are you coming?”

Crowley couldn’t, not after all this. He almost felt as though he was infringing on Wilde’s own space just sitting within three meters of the angel, he really couldn’t share a bed. He thaught he may throw up.

“No. I’m not tied today. I think I’ll stay here a while, listen to the rain.” He said.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Goodnight then.”

“Good night Aziraphale.” Crowley managed a small smile, not wanting to displease his friend.

“Oh, and Crowley?”

“Yes?”

“Thankyou- you know. For looking after me in that bookshop today.”

“You’re welcome Angel.”

Crowley watched as the door to the bedroom shut, and he felt as though the should throw the thank-you he’d just received out the window.

He felt so immensely guilty in so many ways, for so many different reasons, and he hated it. No wonder the angel had been acting so emotional this trip he thaught, it most likely reminded him of his one with Wilde that time he’d mentioned, and this fact I was quite possibly the worst of all. To think that his friend had been going through all of this emotion for the last three days and not saying anything about it was unbarable to Crowley, he should never have come. This was far too intimate, and him being there probably only made things worse.

Not only all that, he also felt bad due to believing he had ever had a chance with Aziraphale, and as such behaving in an almost flirtatious way the past few days. What must he think of Crowley? Most definitely not good things that was for sure.   


Dark creatures with teeth larger than a hellhound’s prowled Crowley’s thoughts that night, snaking between his memories and corrupting his emotions, and with the Angel fast sleep, he was left to fend them by himself. The only trouble was, that evening, he had laid his sword down, and admitted defeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of research went into the chapter- I wanted to get the whole history of Oscar Wilde as accurate as I could manage- so if any part is wrong please do let me know. Also my spelling is a piece of shit I know so if there are any mistakes feel free to correct me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our bois solve their issues- mostly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right y’all, I know this is short, bare with me because the next chapter (hoping for Monday update- no guarantee) will be a biggie. Like hopefully some 10K shit. 
> 
> Anyway, I thought I needed to solve this issue so I can continue with my OG plan, so enjoy my brief return from the pits of Hell. 
> 
> Love you all! X

The next two days dragged by for Crowley, who was stuck in a constant trance of unwanted thoughts, feelings and emotions. He was quiet, submissive, and overley kind to Aziraphale, feeling awful for not only invading his privacy, but his time away too.

Crowley was blinded by his depressive episode, he hardly took in any of his surroundings, or acknowledged anything that wasn’t Aziraphale. He felt as though he’d been sent back to the last time him and the angel had fought majourley- over the holy water probably, but this time it was worse because he had to pretend he was okay.

But don’t get me wrong. Crowley had a thick skin. By no means was he easily offended, easily hurt, or easily moved, in fact, Crowley was usually the one doing the offending and hurting. He was almost unbreakable. But, Aziraphale had a control over Crowley like no-one or nothing else. With a single flick of a wrist the angel could make Crowley kill for him, die for him, and fall all over again for him. That's just the way it was, the way it always had been.

Of course, Aziraphale was oblivious to all this. Unknowing to how he had wrapped Crowley around his finger all those years ago, when they had first met.

Crowley had actually met Aziraphale before he had fallen, not long after his creation. The angel himself was younger than Crowley, by how much is impossible to say because they had both been created before time itself even existed, but Crowley knew he had been one of the first to exist. He remembered seeing Aziraphale, a bright burning ball of light exploding from nothingness into existence, and he remembered him being named and looked after in his early life by the Almighty- as She did with all Her celestial children.

Those memories for Crowley were hazy though. He didn’t remember much of Heaven or the stars at all apart from this great sense of constant love and assurance, and the overwhelming feeling of _home._ Hell had never felt like home to Crowley, and being with Aziraphale was the only source of that old faint feeling he could still latch on to. It was for this reason he had started associating with the angel- to try and replace the feeling of emptiness he felt with the undying love that all angel’s radiated, but as he grew to know Aziraphale, he soon realised the angel’s personality and soul also healed him in different ways.  


The angel in question had in fact, unbeknown to Crowley, realised something was wrong with the Demon. He knew him better than anyone, and it was no great mystery to how miserable he had been recently. He’d hoped it was only temporary, but after nearly two days of it he decided to question it.

“Crowley?”

“Yes?”

They were in the apartment at the time, getting ready for their final day’s searching before the Ball.

“Are you okay?”

“Quite.” The Demon lied, while miracling the Angel a cup of tea, then heating it up in his palms for his friend. He passed it over.

“No- you arn’t. Do tell me what’s wrong. This is meant to be a _fun_ trip, not a misery fest. I can’t fix your problems if you don’t tell me what they are.” Aziraphale crossed his arms and Crowley sighed. It didn’t seem like he could avert this all that much, but it was worth one more shot.

“Really Angel- I’m fine.” He tried.

He failed.

Aziraphale just raised an eyebrow and waited- not even granting him a response.

“Okay.” He mumbled.

He plonked down on the sofa, and pulled a face, then resigned himself to the argument that was undoubtedly about to star. Subconsciously he even miracled all of his belongings back into his bag in his bedroom, fully expecting to be kicked out soon.

“I know about you and Wilde.”

Aziraphale’s face remained neutral- and Crowley couldn’t thank him enough for it. It made confessing easier, just as painting is easier to start on a blank canvas.

“I know that you visited him, while he was out of the country, because I read some letters you sent to each other. And now I feel as though I have not only invaded your privacy but I am infringing on your relationship with Wilde just by being on this trip.” He hung his head.

“And why did you read those letters?”

“Because I was curious as to your relationship.”

Aziraphale nodded, more to himself than to Crowley, and breathed out deeply.   

“You could have just asked.” He said, leaving the demon very confused- this was certainly not the reaction he’d been expecting. Shouting, yes. Crying, maybe. Not this though.

“Oscar was a good friend Crowley- me and him were close. And yes- maybe for a while, I did particularly favour him. But that was _two hundred years ago_.” He gestured with his hands.

“ I have moved on, and I know he’s somewhere better now. At the end of the day he was human Crowley. He was never like me and he was certainly never like you- so if you were thinking that you were stepping on his toes, you’re wrong. You’re different to him, and our bond will always be more profound.”

Crowley’s eyes widened.

“I am annoyed about you reading those letters because they were private, but I guess it’s not good to dwell on the past.” Aziraphale looked down at his hands unsure, and that was when Crowley realised there was no angel more perfect than his. He didn’t deserve this forgiveness, but he was definitely going to take it. He leant forwards and took his hands, and held them. They were small and warm, and fitted wonderfully in Crowley’s own, and he gripped in to them tightly.

Aziraphale smiled shyly, and started rubbing circles into Crowley’s hands, to reassure him, and _damn_ did it feel good. It also felt good to have the whole incident out- it had reached been eating him up.

“I’m not really sure what I should say. Should I say Thankyou?” Crowley cocked his head.

“Maybe not.” The Angel considered. “You’re not off the hook just yet though.”

And that it seemed, was the end of that, apart from Crowley having to constantly make tea and run around after the Angel- to ‘make up’ for his actions. After all of Crowley’s dramatic moping, it was all over within a minute of actually talking. Crowley thought that maybe in the future he would share his problems with Aziraphale rather than his plants.   


What Crowley didn’t know was that actually Aziraphale _was_ mad. Especially due to the fact he had looked at the letters, because they had been so intimate and emotional. Wilde did matter to him, immensely, and no matter what lies he told himself or anyone, he still wasn’t completely over him. The trouble was, he was by no means over Crowley either, so to speak, despite his best intentions. And this made him angrier. At himself, or the demon, he couldn’t tell. The only  reason he’d let him off the hook was because of his worry for another, more pressing matter, that he couldn’t repress and ignore for six thousand years.

The necklace.

They had been searching for it now for days, a,most trailed the entire coastline twice, East _and_ West coast despite it only apparently being on the East, and there wasn’t even a scent of it. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would have said it had disappeared off the planet all together, and that made him worried. He’d been thinking about it constantly, panicking that some human had gotten hold of it and hurt themselves, or worse, Hell or Heaven had acquired it and if so, that would be very bad news indeed. Not only could it be a considerably dangerous  weapon if used correctly, the necklace could easily used to spy on Crowley and him, and despite all the happenings after the not-alypse, Aziraphale wouldn’t put it past his side to not do anything bad.

He found himself praying to the Almighty quite a bit, asking for guidance, and advice, but what She replied with wasn’t much help, in-fact it made matters worse.

**Search inwards Dear One.**

“How your Grace?” Aziraphale asked through his true form’s voice. If humans were to hear it, it would make their ears bleed, and burst. It could break glass, and shatter planets, but it was so wonderfully soft it would all happen with beauty.

**_What you are looking for is not far. Stay safe though Child, troubling times lay ahead._ **

She had cut their connection then, and Azirphale was left feeling empty and hollow, and even more worried. What had Her words meant? Not another war, surely not. Azirphale didn’t think he could take another war, he was still recovering from the not-alypse.

To ease his panic he thought about the upcoming ball, and hoped that it would bring him relaxation, and piece of mind. The combination of the Crowley situation and this necklace was doing his head in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, share, and leave Kudos! 💙💙


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys get ready and attend the ball- only to find out it may not be all it seems.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so I know it’s not Monday as promised but this needed editing, and there is a lot of it so sorry. 
> 
> Also I’m on holiday for a bit so if I don’t update for like two weeks that’s why. I can’t count of WiFi. However, I will write as much as I can so when I return I can post loads. 
> 
> Love you all and have a good week xx

The next day was Thursday, and the day of the ball. A day, now that all of these issues had subsided, that Crowley was very much excited about. Not that he’d admit it. He’d been sleeping on the sofa since the spooning incident due to his worry about losing control (not that Azirphale knew it), but on Wednesday night he’d been up all evening starting at the ceiling imagining what his Angel would be wearing, and drooling. 

He hoped for a suit- or a tux would be better. Perhaps something too tight and white to compliment all his soft curves and his wonderful eyes. Oh yes Crowley could see it now.

‘ _ It’ll be like the old days.’  _ He had mused in the darkness. ‘ _ Balls and parties, with me draped all over him and ignoring every other person in the room.’  _

He thought it ironic, that he was the Demon and therefore was meant to be doing the tempting, but Aziraphale was the biggest temptation in his long six thousand year life; and-  annoyingly- not one he could have. He thought that if it were him, he would have been given a promotion in Hell for it.

Getting ready though seemed to be the biggest fiasco since the apocalypse, there were many arguments, but by far the biggest was over who would be using the bathroom mirror first. 

“I need to straighten my hair! That’ll take longer than you shaving your face so fuck off!” Crowley was stood in the doorway, pointing straightening tongs that weren’t even plugged at Aziraphale threateningly. Aziraphale didn’t look threatened in the slightest, and just raised an eyebrow.

“You can’t do that until you’re changed anyway! Let me shave!” The angel counteracted, hands on his hips. They were both dressed in long silk robes (pretentious pricks they were), and Aziraphale had even taken off his glasses.

“Miracle it!”

“Then why don’t you miracle your hair?” Aziraphale shouted back.

“It’s not the same and you know it!” 

The arguments continued for a while, so in the end Crowley gave in to Aziraphale, (he was wearing a bathrobe that showed a lot of skin after all, and  _ there is only so much _ a man can take) and just miracled a mirror in the bedroom and slammed the door loudly, granting himself a screech from the other about ‘being careful with the woodwork.’ 

It took time, but he straightened his hair (burning his vessel twice), then miracled the suit he had chosen online the previous evening onto his body, then fiddled and altered it until it sat right. 

The suit was black, with a wide, expensive looking gold trim along the lapels, pockets, and collar. It was very tight fitting, came with a similarly gold trimmed waite-coat, and instead of a ledge flash belt to hold up the trailers, he wore thick leather suspenders. The suit, if he’d brought it, would have cost a God-awful four thousand pounds, and Crowley liked it that he could practically smell the money in the expensive material. 

The mask he made was a bright gold and black obsidian to match, and he had to admit it was quite an item. The actual mask part that covered the face was in the shape of a skull, (this was the black part), and hung down from his forehead to his nose, where it then stopped. Out of the top of the mask protruded the large sunset coloured ram horns, which curled wonderfully down to his ears, setting of his red hair. The best thing about the mask though was that it darkened his eyes, almost as though a visor would, so he wouldn’t have to wear his glasses.

He smirked at his form in the mirror, and turned to observe his rear end. He had to admit- he looked hot. Perfect he hoped, for getting a certain Angel’s attention.

“Oi! Angel!” He opened the bedroom door and stepped out. “I’m done! You finished yet-“ he turned, and nearly dis-combodied when he saw Aziraphale. 

He looked fucking gorgeous.

Crowley didn’t know what the Angel had done, but somehow he looked fifty times more enticing than usual, he didn’t just look cute, or pretty, or hot like normal. The man was a  _ work of art.  _

He was wearing the tightest sky blue trousers Crowley had ever seen, which flared ever so slightly at the bottom of his legs, and fitted so snugly on his hips Crowley would have said the Angel was born in them. He scanned up, and observed the Angel’s body, dressed in a loose white shirt, with a many coloured pastel tie, which had floral patterns winding all up it. The look had been completed with a similar light blue jacket, a belt, and a silver mask with stag horns curving their way out of it. Aziraphale’s blond hair licked his ears in those wonderful curls of his, and it had never looked softer. Crowley wondered what it would be like to reach out and just touch-

“Crowley? Are you even listening?” 

“What? Me? Yes!” He snapped his eyes up to the angel’s, though he found them hidden by the mask. 

“Clearly you weren’t. I asked if I look okay- I don’t look cheap do I?” 

_ Cheap!?  _ Crowley swore that one day he would give this Angel the self confidence he deserved. 

“Good Lord no. Azirahpale, you look as ravishing as ever.” Crowley barely choked out. 

“You and your jokes!” Aziraphale laughed and hit Crowley’s shoulder. “Thank You. You too look delightful. I like the waistcoat.” 

“I’m not joking.” Crowley said, firm and unthinking. He regretted it as soon as it had left his mouth, and he had half a mind to suddenly just disappear back to Hell, and suffer their holy water. It would be better than the silence that now screamed in the air between them. 

He could feel his cheeks heating up as Aziraphale just stared at him mouth open, and  _ Oh Sweet Jesus,  _ did he have lip-gloss on because his lips were actually sparkling.

“I-I mean, I mean…” he couldn’t find his words. Crowley knew over ten thousand languages and could speak all of them in his sleep, but none of them would come to mind at this moment. 

“I mean that’s a joke too. Obviously.” He muttered. 

It was hard to tell because of the mask, but was that- no it couldn’t be- was that  _ disappointment  _ on Azirahpale’s face? No. No- he was wrong. Probably relief of course. 

Suddenly the car Crowley had hired miraculously appeared outside, and so naturally, he had to run out the room in shoes so expensive they could easily pay some poor students debt to see it was what he wanted. 

Aziraphale brought a hand to his cheek in the room, now alone abruptly.

“Ravishing….” he breathed, and smiled to himself softly.

**XXX**

By the time they got going the sun had set completely.The journey in the car didn’t take all that long- partly because Aziraphale had reluctantly let Crowley drive (it had turned out the Angel didn’t know how to drive, causing Crowley great delight), and partly because Cornwall is not a particularly large place. If you know the roads well enough, it's easy to get around quickly. 

The car ride started in silence, but when Crowley miracled the radio on, and the awkwardness left as quick as lightning due to Crowley’s singing. 

He didn’t play Queen, because he was a little tedious of it in the Bentley all the time- and he wanted music that Aziraphale would enjoy too, so he put on some Coldplay instead.

Crowley could by no means sing well-in fact many would call him ‘tone deaf’, but it always calmed him down and gave him back any confidence he felt he had lost. However, he almost always sung alone, so singing in front of Aziraphale was a change. While he was embarrassed at his poor talent, he found the tension relief between the two of them rewarding enough to continue. That and it distracted him just enough to stop staring at Aziraphale’s lips.

“I didn’t know you were so…” Aziraphale atruggled for a word, “enthusiastic about singing.” 

He said it politely, but it was clear that what he really meant was Crowley was crap. 

“Why yes Angel. Some would even say I inspired Freddie Mercury himself my voice is so angelic.”’

“Nothing about you is angelic.” Aziraphale deadpanned, waving his hand at Crowley dismissively. 

“And is that a good thing or a bad?” Crowley humoured the angel. 

“Bad of course.” 

“That's exactly the right answer.” Crowley gave a threatening grin, and turned his head back to the road. 

“You were an angel once though.” 

“That I was.” 

“Do you remember any of it?” Aziraphale asked, cocking his head, and Crowley was shocked by the intimacy of the question. It was very personal. Was that a good thing or a bad- he didn’t know, but answered anyway. 

“Some parts. I remember this strong feeling of love- and self assuredness. I remember feeling as though I was made of gold and perfection, and everything was good.” He said wistfully. Aziraphae stayed silent, listening with eagerness. “I recall creating dimensions and entire universes with just a snap of my fingers, and I still remember every single grain of them today. Could navigate through them with my eyes closed. Not of course, that my true form has eyelids.”

Aziraphale hummed. This was very very personally to Crowley, and although he had probably mentioned it in the last, This was the first time he was having this conversation with anyone. 

“I remember you too you know.” 

“Really?” Gasped Aziraphale. 

“Yeah, you were still young. If I recall, your true form had two jackal heads and a bandaged human head did it not? You had eight wings- made of nebule. And all the spinning shapes conjuring your halo were- silver? Or gold?” He frowned. “I’m not sure colour existed then. It's all hazy. I can't remember the order.” 

“Silver.” Came the whispered reply. “My halo is liquid silver.”

They rode in content quiet then, both reflecting on each other's words. 

The manor house driveway they eventually pulled into was huge. Long and stretching through a field it had to be at least a quarter of a mile long, and it was lined with huge oak trees- all of which were decorated with numerous lanterns, which glowed in the twilight sky. There was ribbon also tied between each trunk, and it was a thick deep red colour that the car headlights glided off. There were plenty of fancy, expensive cars cruising up the driveway with them, Porches, BMW’s, Jaguar’s and Friari’s were only a few of the brands that could be seen.

Then the front of the mansion came into view, and Aziraphale could be heard gasping. It was huge, about the size of Longleat Manor at least. It was decorated with many exquisitely carved gargoyles, angels, and other various creatures, some terrifying, others beautiful. In front of the large manor stood a tall water fountain, and it was lit up with various pink, purple and blue lights, giving the impression the water was glowing the colours of stars. It was this the cars were pulling up to, to unload passengers and be chauffeured elsewhere, so Crowley did the same. 

After handing the keys to a boy dressed in a tight red waistcoat, not without a threat of course, the pair stepped forward to the steps that led up to the house. Many people congregated on them, all dressed in the most incredible suits and dresses chatting happily. Crowley spied one girl with a dress so long it trailed for a good two meters behind her, and an elderly man who’s suit suit actually lit up. ‘ _ Hats off to everyone,’  _ He admired, ‘ _ this isn’t half bad.’  _ Nobody looked as good as Aziraphale though. 

One woman dressed in a luxurious dark blue suit with a balck lace mask met them at the door and smiled kindly. She was holding a checklist, written on very expensive paper, and she peered down at it. 

“Names please Sirs?”

“Mr A.Fell and Mr A.Crowley” the Angel smiled back. 

They were directed through dark solid oak doors, and through to a ballroom, as huge as it was lavishly decorated. Gold leaf was everywhere to be seen, paintings adorned the ceiling, and huge pictures of Nobel gentlemen and ladies were hung on the walls. The room (if this really counted, the word ‘room’ seemed to do it injustice really) had a circular stage risen up in the middle, which was pulsing with various neon lights and decorated with gold ivy leaves. On top of it a band was playing upbeat (yet not mainstream) music, and all sorts of instruments including a harp, a trench horn and even a flute could be seen. It seemed that nothing was done half arsed. 

The room was full with dancing people, and those who weren’t dancing were sat at tables enjoying food from a buffet, and those who weren’t sat at tables were drinking from the wide selection of alcohol. Chatter, laughter and happiness radiated loud, even Crowley could feel it through his true form. The whole picture seemed very similar to all the parties the pair had attended all those hundreds of years ago- and it felt nice to relive the past. Comforting even.   
  


Something was wrong though. He couldn’t pinpoint what- it was probably just the shock after all his years of unsocialising with anyone but Aziraphale finally ending, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of danger. Just like the beginning of the week, before his mind had been preoccupied with ‘other matters’, he felt as though he was still being watched, but this time it was a stronger, more obvious sensation that encased him fully. 

He turned to his friend to ask if he too felt it, but the blonde had already left his side, presumably choosing to go and meet people. 

‘ _ Sociable prick.’  _

Crowley decided to do the same thing, maybe he could even slide in a few temptations this evening, because although he wasn’t officially working for down under anymore, he did enjoy it. One could say, if he had been, he was born for it. Besides; it would hopefully take his mind off his uneasy feeling. 

He wandered up to a couple of younger looking toffs, most likely in their twenties, and financially supported by Mummy and Daddy, who were chatting excitedly and waving their arms about to the beat of the music. All easy targets of course, young and easily influential.

“Why Hullo.” He mockingly bowed, causing a set of giggles. “And who are you lovely people?” 

“I’m Rosaphine.” A girl waved. 

“And I’m Dan.” 

“A pleasure.” Crowley stuck out his hand, which was shook by both. 

“And who may you be?” Daniel asked, looking Crowley up and down with curiosity, eyes lingering on the clearly expensive suit. Crowley smirked.

“The Duke of Hell.” 

That caused loud laughter from both, and the demon joined in, amused by their niävety. 

“So what do you two think of this place?” He continued. “Awfully nice isn’t it?” 

“Oh yes.” Rosaphine nodded, “though between you and me the food’s a bit naff. I only eat food from Harrods, and this is nothing alike.” 

“Of course you do.” Crowley tried not to roll his eyes. “You must be near London to get food from there then?” 

“Not at all, I have it ordered in. Too far for me.” 

‘ _ Good God.’  _ He thought to himself. ‘ _ These two will be easy to tempt. Almost takes the fun out of it.’ _

“Now Rosa.” Dan tapped her. “Please don’t be rude.” 

The girl pulled a face, and they continued their conversation. 

Half an hour Crowley had rather impressively convinced the girl to leave her parents estate and to disown them as her parents. 

“Surely you don’t need  _ their  _ money.” He had lied, “why not make your own. Prove to them, and that stuck up sister of yours you can be independent.” 

He predicted her to be homeless within four months. 

And the boy, well, he acted slightly more politely, and as such Crowley had held a slight amount of mercy for him, just convincing him that his beautiful old vintage Rolls Royce needed a purple and orange paint job that would without a doubt ruin the car entirely. 

He got bored soon enough though, and moved on, deciding to try and find Aziraphale. He, unsurprisingly, located him by the buffet, chatting with a well looking, older aged woman dressed in gold, and with a large interesting looking bowl of ice-cream in his hands. 

“Wondering where you got to.” He genuinely smiled for the first time since entering the room, and then put his hand out for the bowl. His friend passed it over, and so the red-head spooned a large amount into his mouth. Mango flavour it would seem. “I see you’re making friends. Please, introduce me.” He handed back the bowl, and the woman turned to look at him. 

“This is my friend Anthony.” Azirahpale nodded. “He’s awfully cynical, but wonderful deep down, so please do bare with him.” 

“And is Anthony your real name?” The woman asked. 

“Afraid not Miss. Please though, do tell me your name, real or made up, it makes no difference to me.” 

“I’m Evelyn. I’ll leave it up to you whether or not to believe thats my real one.” 

“Interesting.” Crowley said. “Well, nice to meet you Evelyn.” 

“You too Anthony.” The exchanged handshakes, and smiled at each other mischievously. 

“I have to say your friend is very polite.” Evelyn motioned to Aziraphale, who was pouring himself wine having finished the ice cream. “He’s most charming.” 

“Don’t let that fool you.” Crowley slapped Aziraphale on the shoulder, causing the angel’s wine to splash a bit. “He’s more than a pretty face I’m sorry to say.” 

“Yes I thought.” She smiled, and her face wrinkled, showing the stamp of time on it. “You are quite the charmer as well though, I feel. Interesting pair you two are.” She crossed her arms and fixed the two with a judgemental look.

“We do try.” Azirphale nodded, and took a drink from his glass. Crowley tried not to concentrate on the way he swallowed, and on Evelyn instead, who was watching him with steady eyes. 

“It’s awfully pretentious here.” She motioned to the room, and everyone in it. “I mean, I’m here so I suppose I must be just as bad, but I saw one man kick a waiter because he got his drink wrong.” 

“You know what Evelyn, you are quickly turning into my favourite person here. I couldn’t agree more. I was just chatting with a kid who was upset her mother wouldn’t shell out for a six grand dress. She wanted to leave home.” Crowley replied. 

‘ _ And now she will. Thanks to me.’  _ He chuckled inwardly. 

“Good grief.” They snickered between themselves, while Azirahpale stood on the side, arms crossed. He was trying to look annoyed, probably at their ‘bad mouthing’ which of course he wouldn’t find very ‘good behaviour.’ That of course, just made it funnier. 

“So, what’s the deal with you and Mr Fell here? On holiday? Work? Honeymoon?” She slipped that last suggestion in with a knowledgeable glance at Crowley, who was thankful for his mask to hide his reddened cheeks. 

Aziraphale only smiled and batted his hand. 

“Work unfortunately. We’re historians one could say, looking for something of great value.” 

He was about to continue in his description, when the music stopped, causing an abrupt silence. Everyone stopped chatting, and looked up to the stage, where the band where bowing and leaving the stage. 

The silence was uneasy, and Crowley was reminded of the feeling that had rooted itself in the bottom of his stomach. 

“Do you feel that?” He turned to Aziraphale, to try and ask again. His eyes were not on Crowley though, but on the stage, where he too was clapping and applauding as everyone else was. 

“Feel what?” It was clear he wasn’t paying any attention to Crowley or what he had to say, so the demon turned back to the stage, so see what was so interesting he was worth ignoring.

The man from the book shop, Richard Kwaad,(or  _ Duke Richard Kwaad _ Crowley now supposed) was walking up to the stage, dressed in a dark green suit with black lapels and a ruby red mask. Normally, one would have assumed the colours would have clashed, but somehow he was pulling it off magnificently. Every step he took a large dark coloured cloak fanned out behind him, mirroring his movements and making it appear almost as if he were floating. He also wore a bright crimson necklace and bracelet, that pulled the outfit together, and Crowley wanted to scoff.

Kwaad raised his arms up, and out, and even without saying everything everyone started to bellow and cheer. He turned confidently around the circular stage slowly, showing off his outfit and person to everyone. The cheers got louder every time he moved, and Crowley could only see himself and Evelyn who weren’t caught up in the atmosphere. 

“My friends!” Kwaad called, instantly silencing his grand audience. “It is good to see you all looking so wonderful!” This sent up another roar of excitement, but it was soon put down by Kwaad resting a single finger to his lips. Evelyn rolled her eyes, and turned to pour herself a drink.

“I hope we are all having a good time. I want to thank you for coming, and yes, thank all the staff for their wonderful help.” Kwaad continued his speech, and uninterested, Crowley also chose to search for alcohol strong enough to get through the rest of it. 

“It’s a glorious evening, but of course, the fun is only just starting. Our ‘special event’ as you all know it by will be starting in an hour or so, and a new band will come to the stage to accommodate you all.” A particularly loud cheer went up at this, but Crowley was too busy choosing between a cranberry and strawberry martini, or a two hundred year old Jin to really pay attention. 

“Please so remember though, if you want to throw up, do make your way outside. This flooring is  _ very  _ expensive.” He laughed, bowed and left the stage. Music soon started back up again, and Crowley, having decided on the gin, turned back to his friends. 

“Throw up?” Azirahpale frowned. “Why should anyone do such a thing in a stunning building like this? Surely everyone is well educated enough to know not to get drunk.” 

Evelyn laughed. “Do you not know why they’re all here?” 

“To dance?” 

“Partly. But this special event- well, it’s not what you think. Soon enough little red pills in bags will be handed out to everyone, and then the party will really start.” She sighed, and stared depressivly into her drink, before downing the whole thing. 

Crowley was sure behind his mask he could see Aziraphale’s eyebrows shoot upwards, and his mouth opened in shock. Even Crowley was surprised, he certainly hadn’t expected that. He suddenly realised that this definitely wasn’t the kind of party he thought he would be attending.

“You surely don’t mean….” He breathed. 

“Oh yes. Whatever you want, he will have it. How do you think he still has the money to put all this on? His royal allowance would never cover the amount of stuff he has. Trust me- I know.” 

“Good God.” Crowley mumbled. “Angel we need to leave now. I’m not having you get mixed up with this-“ He was about to continue, when out of the crowd Kwaad sauntered towards them, his arms opening in a way that was supposed to be welcoming, but instead only seemed threatening. Crowley clamped his mouth shut- this would have to wait until after, because God knew that Aziraphale wouldn’t be rude enough to walk out in front of this man, despite his most likely sudden change of heart. 

“Mr Fell! How lovely to see you again.” He grinned at the blonde, blatantly ignoring Crowley and Evelyin.

The demon stiffened, if this man laid on wrong finger on Aziraphale, he would most definitely have a rather catastrophically unfortunate accident involving the chandelier hanging above them and his head, yes he’d see to that. 

“Yes, of course Duke Kwaad. It was kind of you to invite me.” Azirphale was either acting very well, or actually unfazed by this man, and it was making Crowley angrier by the minute. Kwaad was practically radiating danger and hatred, couldn’t the angel feel that? 

“Please, call me Richard. Is the food to your taste?” He motioned with long fingers to the table, and cocked his head in a very innocent manner. 

“Oh yes, quite. I am a big fan of food as well as literature.” 

“Well your body doesn’t show it. You look most incredible- this suit-“ Kwaad reached out and lightly touched the blue jacket, “does wonders.” 

Crowley had to stop himself from growling. 

“Oh! Thank You. You too look good.” 

Crowley knocked back his entire glass of gin, and unable to contain himself anymore, sauntered off, for the second time around this man, to the alcohol table once again. 

He could still hear the conversation, but it made it easier not to look. Evelyn’s eyes followed him curiously the whole time. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to dance?” The Duke asked. 

“I would love to.” 

‘ _ Dance!’  _ Thought Crowley. ‘ _ Aziraphale can’t dance anything but that stupid gavotte he learnt. Unless… unless he learnt without me knowing. Doesn’t matter now I suppose- Kwaad will teach him anyway. Bastard.’  _

As Kwaad led Azirahpale away, Crowley turned round, practically seething red hot, and capped the bottle of wine he had picked up with his mouth. 

“Jealous much?” Evelyn hummed beside him. 

Crowley took a huge swing of wine, and rubbed his mouth against his hand . 

“No.” He spat, clearly jealous.

“Hm.” Evelyn gave him a look. “Doesn’t look that way sweetie.” 

“None of your bloody business anyway.” He swallowed a huge amount of wine again, nearly draining half the bottle already. 

“Ah- but it may be.” 

“What the fuck is that meant to mean?” Crowley frowned angrily.

“Wouldn’t you like to know. Anthony, look I don’t know you, or your situation, but if you care that much about him, do something about it. Take it from me- once you lose someone, you don’t get them back.” She looked him over once more, smiled kindly, and walked off, until she became just another unrecognisable figure in the crowd. Crowley stood there alone looking like an idiot.

‘ _ Never in a million years will I do such a thing.’  _ He thought, anger still brewing hard. ‘ _ She has no idea what I’m going through, stupid woman.’  _

Despite this though, he necked back a considerable amount of wine, and stormed off onto the dance floor, to look for the angel, and drag him out before this entire thing escalated. Because it would. Crowley knew what happened when you combined the human mind with drugs- he’d tried it himself. And although technically the worst thing that could happen would be them dis-combodying, with what could be called ‘bad relations’ with their superiors, they definitely did not need that. Because it may mean death, and not semi-permanent death, the real deal, 

He only hoped he could turn this entire shit-storm around before it got any worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw their suits exist and I had ALOT of fun browsing high market shops to look for them. If anyone is interested; 
> 
> CROWLEY’S: 
> 
> https://www.harrods.com/en-gb/dolce-and-gabbana/brocade-trim-three-piece-suit-p000000000006269488?bcid=M010010010900. 
> 
> AZIRAPHALE’S: 
> 
> https://www.moss.co.uk/french-connection-slim-fit-light-blue-jacket-966321780


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball comes to an end- but Crowley’s troubles arn’t over just yet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!  
> Sorry for poor upload schedual, but as I said before I’m on holiday, so there. I 
> 
> hope to upload next Friday.  
> I still manadged to chug this one out though- i think its a bit sappy but thats why we’re all here isn’t it? 
> 
> Anyway I think we may be about two thirds of the way through- maybe half?? Something like that.... 
> 
> Have a lovely week anyway everyone! X

Crowley frantically pushed through the sea of dancers who were twisting and turning on the dance floor, not caring about the trail of annoyed comments, shouts and remarks he left as he went. His eyes picked through the crowd, scanning for the familiar and oh-so-beautiful blonde hair that was Aziraphale’s, desperate for a glimpse of it.

He knew he was getting wound up, emotional and angry, but he couldn’t care less. He was worried sick about either of them becoming dis-embodied, particularly Azirahpale of course, and his emotions were starting to cloud his judgement.

Finally he saw the pair, dancing by the center stage. The first thing he noticed was how _good_ they looked. He was shocked by the angel’s grace in his movements, for a man who proclaimed he couldn’t dance he was picking it up very quickly. That was, until he realised Aziraphale was _too_ good. His feet were ahead of him it would seem, moving in a way that seemed to momentarily threw the angel off balance every now and again.

‘ _The bastard’s miracled his own feet!’_ Crowley realised. ‘ _Smart.’_

He looked away from Aziraphale, to Kwaad, who had taken the role of the man, his hands on the blond’s hips spinning him around as though he were paper.

Crowley saw red as a wave of envy crashed into his mind, and he hurried over, his human body driven with jealousy. He certainly wasn’t going to stand for any of this.

“Aziraphale!” He yelled over the music. “Aziraphale we need to leave!”

Kwaad stopped dancing, though did not let go of Aziraphale. He gave Crowley quite probably one of the dirtiest looks a human face could pull, and Crowley shot one back just as bad, hoping to intimidate him. From the glare he received back it didn’t look like it had worked.

“What are you doing here Crowley?” Aziraphale questioned, his eyes squinting behind the mask.

“Getting you out of here, before things get dangerous.” He replied, and carefully grabbed his arm (not wanting to hurt him), ready to lead him away and out of Kwaad’s hold.

“Whoa- I don’t think do.” Kwaad’s arm flew back possessively to Aziraphale’s hip, ready to pull him back into the dance. “We’ve not finished dancing. This is awfully rude of you _Crowley”_ He spat out Crowley’s name as though it tasted awful, like an unripe fruit.

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh, and looked between the two taller men. Neither let go of him.

“Rude? Yes. I am rude. Now fuck off.” Crowley growled.

“I don’t think you should be speaking to me like that at my party. Wouldn’t want to get hurt now- would you?” Kwaad teased, his voice sugar sweet with mocking intent.

“Please, you couldn’t hurt me if you tried, you half arsed, uptight son of a-“

“Gentlemen!” Aziraphale conveniently butted in. “There’s really no point in threats now is there.” He gave a stern look to both. “I’m sure we can settle this in a far more dignified way.” He easily pulled out of Crowley’s grip, (struggled slightly with Kwaad’s, who had been gripping him tighter it would seem) and huffed.

“Yeah, Okay.” Crowley sniffed. If Aziraphale hadn’t been here, he wouldn’t have everbacked down, and would have probably hit Kwaad by now, but he didn’t want to anger the angel.

“Good!” Aziraphale gave a worried smile that looked slightly forced. “Now- Richard, tell me what you want, and we can try to reach a compromise.”

“I only want to dance with you and to get to know you better.” The cloaked man spoke, sounding like a kicked puppy. “And then your _friend_ came and ruined that.”

Crowley wanted to punch him in the mouth. It couldn’t be more obvious he was manipulating Aziraphale.

“Well, I’m sure Crowley won’t object to one dance now- will you?” The angel shot the demon a threatening look.

“No.” He said reluctantly. He felt like a child who was being wrongly told off, why couldn’t Aziraphale understand the danger they were in? Did he not care for his own life? It was clear Kwaad meant him no good.

“That’s what I thought. We’ll leave after that.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” Kwaad nodded. Azirahpale thanked him, and with a final glare at Crowley continued their dance, but this time with their backs were turned to the demon.

‘ _Happy my arse.’_ Crowley thought, and folded his arms as he waited.

It felt like a lifetime, standing there watching them have their fun (and you must remember- that is a _long_ time for Crowley) but thankfully, soon enough the song ended, and he waited no time in sauntering over in order to remind the pair of the ‘compromise’.

Kwaad bowed to Aziraphale, who flushed slightly through his mask.

“It’s been lovely dancing with you this evening-despite intermissions.” He shot Crowley another killing look, “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

“Quite.” Crowley answered for him. He placed his hand on Azirahpale’s back before he could talk any more and started to lead the angel away, snickering. He took one final look over his shoulder at Kwaad. He was standing alone, tapping his foot on the floor with his arms crossed, and Crowley smiled at him, allowing his eyes to glow yellow slightly to try and make it more intimidating.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Aziraphale looked over to Crowley. He had a huge scowl on his face, which would have looked adorable if it weren’t directed at the demon. He purposely shrugged Crowley’s hand off his back, and turned fully to look at him.

“What was all that for? Completely unnecessary.” He frowned. “I had Kawad under control.”

“Oh yes. I could tell that from the way you were _staring_ _lovingly into each other’s eyes as you danced into the sunset._ ” Crowley mocked. The angel’s face scowled even more at these words.

“What has gotten into you?” He actually sounded quite hurt, triggering Crowley’s guilt system. He was a demon for Hell’s sake! He wasn’t supposed to feel guilt.

And yet…

Crowley put his head in his hands. “Angel- I don’t want this turning into an argument. Hear me out.” He splayed his hands out in front of him, and breathed out trying to stay calm.

“I know you like Kwaad- for whatever reason. But the aura that I can feel whenever I’m near him, it’s not good. It’s like a tiny concentrated droplet of Hell. Please- understand why I can’t have you associating with him too much.”

Azirahpale sighed and looked at his feet, then crossed his arms. “Yes; But I can look after myself Crowley. I appreciate your concern, I do. But I can cope myself.”

Aziraphale just didn’t understand.

“I know that. I just don’t want you to be dis-corporated again.” Crowley replied. “Because you may not get a body back this time.”

There was a stretch of silence between them, and Crowley took that as Azirahpale’s obvious negative reply.

“Right. Well.” He pulled himself up tighter to hide his hurt. ” I’m going home then. Stay if you want.”

He turned to go.

But then, a hand, warm and soft and small, snaked its way to Crowley’s, where if cautiously hung for a moment, before interlocking it into his. Crowley jumped at the touch, shocked, and spun back around. Aziraphale was stood with his shoulders sagged, and his mask nowhere to be seen. The emotion on his face was very raw, and earnest, and it was just as obvious in the way he spoke.

“Crowley wait.”

Crowley couldn’t reply, he was too shocked by the hand holding to do or say anything, it was so warm and all consuming. Aziraphale’s hand fit perfectly in his he thought, it framed his large, cold, bony hands wonderfully.

“I’m sorry.” The angel sighed.

“No-no need to, to apologise Angel.” Crowley stuttered back. He was embarrassed- he’d never stuttered before in his life, not even when he’d previously pressed Aziraphale up against a wall, or hugged him. And yet- this hand holding seemed far more intimate than either of those occasions, and as a result his head had turned to mush.

“No Crowley I do. You’re only trying to look after me.” His finger brushed against the demon’s knuckle, trying to communicate his apology through touch.

“S’kay.” Crowley slurred.

“Let’s go home then- yes? Together?”

“Together.” Crowley nodded. He looked over to the angel, who smiled at Crowley, then nodded, and hand in hand, they disappeared from the room with a slight ‘ _pop’_.

They materialised only mili-seconds later thirty miles away in their apartment in Truro. Aziraphale looked slightly tired after the rather large miracle he’d just pulled, and his shoulders sagged. Their hands were still firmly clasped together.

“You know- we could have just driven.” Crowley muttered. He hadn’t been expecting the miracle, and it had thrown him off balance a bit. He was relieved they were alone again though. They were out of that awful situation, away from Kwaad, and _safe._

“Would have taken too long.” Aziraphale shrugged. He carefully unlaced his fingers from Crowley’s (which was probably for the best due to the fact Crowley’s traitorous hands had been starting to sweat) and went to presumably miracle out of his clothes.

Crowley didn’t know what caused him to do what he did next, but it certainly wasn’t a conscious, well thought out decision.

“Wait!” He spluttered. “Dance with me!”

Aziraphale cocked his head.

“Dance? Where has this come from? My dear boy- you know I can’t. What you saw erlia- it was a miracle. I can’t-“

“I don’t care. Just, please….” Crowley tried to find an excuse, because there was no way he could back down now. “I can teach you!”

“Really?”

Crowley miracled a record player, and if he just so happened to choose slow, maybe even what could be considered romantic music, well, that was an accident.

“Of course.” Crowley took off his own mask, and let it dissolve into nothing in mid air with a flick of his fingers. “Anything to help you angel.” Crowley wondered how much Aziraphale knew that was true.

He stepped forward slowly into the blond’s personal space, testing the water there, and then carefully placed his arm on Aziraphale’s shoulder. It burnt him, in the best possible way.

“See-“ He gestured, “I put one hand here, and the other down here.” He went to hold Aziraphale’s hip, but looked for permission first. He got a nod, so he continued.

“And then, you, well you can either put your arms on my shoulders, or just loop them around my neck- yes like that. Then we just, well, sway.”

The long, delicate arms that had hooked around Crowley’s neck were warm, and they fit with his human figure perfectly. And Aziraphale’s hips- they were a whole other story. They were soft- but also firm and strong, wonderfully curved and somehow still masculin, and Crowley was reminded of the time he had spent in Aziraphale’s body a year ago. (And that had been an interesting time _indeed._ Crowley, before his encounter with Heaven, had spent a good hour looking in the mirror at Aziraphale’s body, and simply running his hands up and down it. He had though- resisted doing anything else- he didn’t want to _disrespect_ the angel.)   


It was like they were meant to be there at that specific time dancing; he thought. Maybe even part of the ineffable plan.

They swayed, out of time to the music, and clumsily, but they were dancing all the same. They were immensely close too, Aziraphale’s face close enough to see the small cherry red blush forming on his face, and the bright green, gray and yellow flecks in his eyes. His golden curls fell into his face slightly, and Crowley realised how glad he was only he got to see the angel like this- without his mask off, dressed in all this finery and blushing like a teenage girl. Only he had shared this moment with him.

“It’s easier than I thought.” Aziraphale smiled. “Kwaad made it so fast and difficult.”

“Hm.” Crowley replied, too engrossed in the other to really give a real answer.

“It’s a tad different to the Gavotte though.”

“You think?”

Crowley didn’t tell the oblivious angel that this dance was considered extremely intimate to humans, and that it was a dance only done by lovers. Why should he? It would ruin the moment, and besides, the only reason he had chosen this one was because it was the _easiest_ Thankyou very much. Obviously that was the reason.

Aziraphale then did something very odd, and very unexpected, he let his head fall to Crowley’s shoulder. This brought their bodies closer together, so they were flush against each other as Aziraphale buried his head further into Crowley’s jacket. The demon swore he had never blushed so much in his entire immortal life, and he honestly thought holy water had been poured all over him because he was burning. Actually, physically burning because Aziraphale was _so close._

He could slightly feel his breath on his neck, and could feel the warmth radiating off his human body warming up his own.

“I never quite realised just how tall you are.” Aziraphale mumbled into his shoulder.

“Well I am wearing platform shoes.” Crowley replied with a small laugh, and he found he was no longer stuttering. This position they were in, still swaying together, felt so natural, and comfortable and _safe._ Just like the hugs. The hand he had rested on the back of Aziraphale’s shoulder hugged the angel closer, and he smiled widely to himself. It felt _right._

Half an hour later the record had finished, coming to crackling stop on the turntable. Crowley regrettably knew that the moment would soon be coming to an end, but that didn’t mean he wanted it to.

Aziraphale made a humming noise, and moved from Crowley’s shoulder slightly, which had warmed considerably from his body warmth.

He looked up, hair no longer in perfect style, instead in disarray, with eyes that were relaxed and sleepy.

“Thankyou Crowley.”

It was hard not to look at his lips. Even harder not to just close the tiny space between them and kiss them.

“It’s okay.”

Crowley did not want to move, but he knew he had to. They couldn’t stay like this all night.

He pulled away from the angel and instantly turned his back, embarrassed at the blush that was still lingering on his cheeks. He busied himself in sorting out the record player- like he couldn’t just miracle it away with a mere blink.

“Will you be sleeping tonight?” Aziraphale asked.

“Um- probably. Sloth’s a sin and all that.” Crowley said.

“I will as well then.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But it’ll be boring just sat here. Besides- I think the sensation has grown on me.”

“If you insist then.”

“I do.”

Aziraphale plodded into the bedroom, and after somehow clearing his blush, Crowley followed.

They changed with their backs turned again (which was very disappointing for Crowley) and then closed the curtains.

“What was it about Kwaad that threw you off?” Aziraphale suddenly questioned.

Crowley looked up from getting into bed, and raised his eyebrows.

“Well- you know you said you can sense love? Back in Tadfield? Well, I can sense hate. Whenever someone is greatly angry, full of hatred or anything like that, it seeps it’s way into me.”

Aziraphale looked sad at this remark, but Crowley continued as he clambered under the sheets.

“Kwaad has so much hate in him it was uncanny. Impossible for the limited amount of emotion humans are capable of. It was like a whole nation of anger in one man.”

“Oh.”

“That's why I don’t like him.”

He sat down on the mattress and pulled the duvet up over his legs.

“That can’t be pleasant.” Aziraphale said, as he too, got into bed.

“Huh?”

“Sensing such extreme hatred like Kwaad’s. Or sensing any of it at all I suppose- especially if you said it seeps into your own thoughts.”

“Just part of being a demon, Angel.”

“It must be awful though!”

“It was at first. You get used to it though.”

“I don’t think I could cope.”

“Neither did I in the beginning.”

Crowley miracled off the lights, trying to signal that this conversation was over. He didn’t want to talk about it. Aziraphale didn’t get the hint, because he reached out across the darkness, and placed a hand on Crowley’s arm.

“I’m sorry you have to experience that.” He whispered.

“Not- _yawn-_ your fault. Good night.”

“Good night my dear.”   


**XXX**

_Darkness. Black like charcoal, and thick like tar- it spread._

_Crowley was sat with Aziraphale somewhere, maybe a park bench, maybe the beach, maybe a book shop._

_Were they talking? He wasn’t sure._

_All that mattered was that they were together. Like they should be._

_But it was getting dark. Darker than the deepest depths of Hell had ever been._

_Crowley frowned._

_Was it night time?_

_No- night was never like this._

_The darkness continued to spread, soaking up  all the scenery around the two. It seeped around the image of Aziraphale, threatening to consume him whole._

_Crowley reached out and tried to warn his angel, but he couldn’t._

_Why not?_

_Was he behind a screen?_

_His angel couldn’t hear him._

_Aziraphale?_

_His angel noticed, and suddenly became distressed. He started to yell, started to thrash and tried to escape the darkness eating its way up his legs and his arms. It smothered his lower body, reducing it to nothingness, consuming his very existance._

_Crowley shrieked too, as he sat helpless._

_Why couldn’t he help?_

_Let him help!_

_Aziraphale!_

_Aziraphale cried Crowley’s name, loud and sharp and clear as he struggled. The thick void of black had eaten its way up him now- so only his head and shoulders still remained untouched._

_Crowkey was yelling, pushing against the invisiable bartier, crying. His angel grasped for him, wispering his name, but it was too late and nothing could be done._

_Aziraphale was engulfed by the darkness._

_Crowley screamed._

**—**

Crowley woke gasping, his head spinning, his eyes watering, and his heart racing. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, and the duvet was tightly wound between his legs, it felt like it was constricting him.

He instantly looked down to the other side of the bed, desperate for any sight of Aziraphale.

He had never felt as much relief as when he saw the angel, fast asleep, with his nose sticking out from the covers, oblivious. So relieved in fact, he started to cry properly. Large tears fell from his snake-like eyes, and they burnt his skin as they fell.

He had always had nightmares, usually involving his fall, or disturbing images from Hell, some of the things he had seen would burn out the eyes of the bravest human alive and leave them with enough nightmares themselves to serve a lifetime. To make things worse, since the apocalypse-that-wasn’t he had had nightmares of that too. He often saw Aziraphale dead, engulfed by flames on the floor of his bookshop, arms laying flat and lifeless and his eyes glazed over with death.

But this nightmare- it disturbed Crowley to the core more than any other. It had been _awful._

‘ _It was incredible really’_ , he mentally scoffed, ‘ _how something so simple in idea can fuck me up so much.’_ He wondered what that had reduced him to.

A snivelling, hopeless, love struck fool. That was what.

Not wanting to wake the angel, he got up, still shaking, and shuffled towards the door. He spared him one last glance, just to be sure he was okay, then left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

He found even in the kitchen he was still trembling, so to stable his quaking legs he grabbed a hold of the kitchen counter top, and rested his head against the cool marble surface. It was cold, and soothed his mind greatly.

Despite this small mercy, he still couldn’t rid his mind of Azirahpale’s face screaming as he was absorbed by the darkness, or of his screams that had pierced right through Crowley’s entire being. It was all like a broken tape in his mind, replaying the same scenario over and over again. He whacked his head against the counter, trying to dispel it all. 

Once his breathing had slowed, and the tears finally stopped falling, he blinked violently, then took himself over to the sofa. He miracled his phone and headphones from the bedroom, and wrapped them around his head like they were a comfort blanket and he was trying to hide from the world. He still felt sick, but as the soft lyrics from Queen’s ‘ _Love Of My Life’_ started to play, it calmed his shaking to mild tremors and reduced his heart rate to something more bearable.

He played the song on loop, and brought his wings, which had at some point been released from the veil (though he didn’t remember doing this consciously) around his body, hugging himself.

‘ _Love of my life,_

_You’ve hurt me.’_

He started singing along the third time the song played, and probably due to his headphones, he didn’t realise how loud he was.

_‘You’ve broken my heart,_

_and now you leave me._ ’

He would snivel and blubber every line or so, crying along to the melodic beat.

_‘Love of my love can't you see_

_Bring it back,_

_Bring it back,’_

He was so engrossed in his music in fact, he didn't hear the bedroom door creak open, and soft footsteps to pad out of it.

_‘Don’t take it away from me_

_Because you don't know what it means to me,’_

Nor did he hear someone softly calling his name.

_‘Love of my life-‘_

A tap on his shoulder finally brought him back to reality.

He jumped high in the air, his wings puffed up, and extended to their full eight meter length ready to fight if needs be, which knocked over numerous pieces of furniture.

He breathed out deeply when he saw it was only Aziraphale, and lowered his wings back to the floor. He took off his headphones and laid them on the coffee table, before looking up at the angel with large, tearstained eyes. He’d never felt so naked, despite being fully clothed.

“Angel?”

“Crowley, my dear boy, what on Earth is wrong?” Aziraphale looked shocked- but Crowley supposed he had never seen him cry before.

Crowley couldn’t reply. He just stood there.

“Crowley?”

He somehow managed a shrug, and his large black wings shifted along the floor with the movement.

Aziraphale walked over closer, causing shafts of moonlight to flow over his face and down his arms. Beneath the thin white cotton of his clothing, his gold accents could be seen glowing slightly, and Crowley was reminded of their beauty.

He placed a worried arm on Crowley’s, and smiled softly.

“Did you have a nightmare? Trouble sleeping?”

His gold rimmed glasses glinted in the darkness.

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Crowley shook his head.

“Well that's okay.” Aziraphale said. His eyes were very clearly staring at Crowley’s wings, which were slightly shaking- and his legs, which were _definitely_ trembling.

He released his wings too- with a large ‘ _flap’_ and sat down on the sofa next to him.

Crowley couldn't help but notice their wings were touching, black feathers interlocked with white ones- and it soothed him gently. Physical touch given from the blonde calmed him, proved to his horror stricken mind that Aziraphale was in fact, alive and well.

“What song were you listening to?” The angel asked.

Crowley showed him his phone, and Aziraphale’s gaze softened.

“Fancy that-“ he commented. “A demon listening to love songs.”

“Oh shut up.” Crowley muttered. “It just happened to be on the Queen playlist I was listening to.”

“Aha. And that’s why it’s playing on loop.” Aziraphale laughed and passed it back to Crowley.

“Do you feel alright now though?”

Crowley shrugged again.

Aziraphale looked down at his hands, then scooted over, and wrapped his arms around Crowley’s lower body.

“I find that a hug can sometimes lift my spirits.”

Crowley smiled, and leant into it awkwardly.

“May I-“

“Of course.”

With Aziraphale’s permission he fell rather ungracefully into the angel’s lap, his wings poofing out to slightly fit under his back. His legs were too long to fit on the sofa, and as a result they dangled off the arm rest at the end. Any other moment and his weak human heart would have been practically convulsing at this, laying in Aziraphale’s lap, and no doubt it would be the next morning- but for now it only slowed in relaxation.

Aziraphale peered down at him curiously, his hair falling down in his eyes.

Crowley yawned- content at last that his friend was safe, and where he could see him, and protect him if needs be. There was no barrier here, no darkness. Only the angel and him.

Aziraphale’s hands wandered down, and started to card through Crowley’s hair, only further soothing Crowley. His eyes fluttered slightly- threatening to close but he knew he couldn’t sleep now. This was a once in a lifetime situation. He couldn’t be unconscious through it- especially since he didn’t even really need sleep. He’d be kicking himself for the next century if he did. Not only that- he was _scared_ of sleeping. What if he had another awful nightmare? He didn’t want to experience anything like that past one ever again.

Some small rational part of him wanted to ask _why_ this was happening? Why was the angel stroking his hair- and why were his pearly white wings slowly enclosing around them both. In fact, why he was allowing any of this at all? Crowley decided not to question it- not at the moment anyway.

“Do you feel better?”

“I - _yawn-_ do.”

“Would you like to go back to bed?” Aziraphale’s hand dragged through Crowley’s hair once more, before trailing soothingly down his back, (and the demon had never been more glad about only wearing one thin layered top to bed).

“Can I stay here? With you? I don’t want any more-“

“You don’t even have to ask my dear.” Aziraphale gave him a warm smile- and Crowley knew more than anything in that moment that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man in front of him. Kill entire armies. or create entire new universes- he’d do it all in a heartbeat.

He took strength from that knowledge, because he knew he could do anything as long as he was by the angel’s side, just as he knew the sun would rise the next day. He closed his eyes, no longer afraid that he would once again see something awful.

He was lying in the arms of the soul he loved the most in all creation- and that meant he could combat anything, even his own dreams, and win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listened to alot of twenty one pilots writing this... 
> 
> Please leave comments- I love every single one!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley ponders his place on the Earth- while Aziraphale struggles with other issues.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yah so sorry this took like a month- I binged like the entirety of Hannibal, and it ruined me. I’m back though! Yay! 
> 
> Hope this chapter makes up for my laziness! 
> 
> And thanks for all the wonderful comments I have been receiving, it makes writing so much easier! Have a lovely week everyone x

“I just don’t understand Crowley! It's got to be here  _ somewhere. _ ” Aziraphale frowned across the table. 

“We’ve gone along the entire coastline twice. Where else can it be?” 

Crowley took a long sip from his drink, and lolled his head back lazily. “Can’t we just go back home?” 

Aziraphale was clearly about to answer with a ‘no’ judging by the scowl on his face, but he was stopped by a waitress delivering his food. 

After waking up in Aziraphale’s lap this morning, Crowley had been really rather flustered- but there was no way he could deny it was the best rest he had ever had. After their late night, both had agreed they couldn’t be bothered to miracle breakfast, or even a cup of coffee, and as a result had gone out for breakfast, at an old tavern pub named ‘ _ The Ruby Dragon.’  _

The waitress placed Aziraphale’s breakfast down on the old wooden table the turned to Crowley. 

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” She had a heavy Cornish accent, and looked no older than sixteen- probably here to make some extra money.

“You don’t serve alcohol before ten do you?” Crowley asked sceptical. 

“No, I’m afraid not sir. After the incident involving Mr Barnes, we’re not allowed.” She smiled to herself, clearly recounting a memory. Crowley only raised his eyebrows. The demon didn’t comment how technically the girl wouldn’t be allowed to serve it to him anyway, being the young age she was.

“Then no- I’m fine thankyou.” 

She nodded and walked off. Azirapahale beamed at his food (a bowl of porridge with numerous pieces of fruit sprinkled in it), before he spooned a large amount into his mouth. Crowley wondered if he had brushed or miracled his hair since waking, because it was still fluffy and messy from his sleep. In a way he rather liked it because it looked cute and reminded him of last night’s events. 

“Okay. What about museums? Could this stupid neckace be in any of them- maybe it was dug up or-“ 

Aziraphale interrupted. “No. Because if it were dug up we would have heard about some poor person imploding. Unless my book made a mistake.” He frowned at his porridge. 

“That’s probably it Angel. I bet the thing doesn’t even exist.” 

“Hm.” 

Aziraphale finished up his breakfast, and laid his spoon in the table. “Something just doesn’t feel right.” 

“Meaning?” 

“I don’t know. This entire situation is ringing my ‘theres-an-issue-here’ senses. Don’t you feel it too Crowley?” 

“I guess I do.” 

The waitress came and took away the dirty cutlery and bowel, and after leaving the money on the table the two left. 

“I think we need to ask around. Maybe a few local historians will know something.” Aziraphale considered. 

“Do you mind if you go alone?” 

“Hm?” 

“I need a bath after last night Angel- and you know I’m not one for ‘ _ research.’  _ Reading a fictional book is about as far as I will stretch.” 

This was partly true. Crowley wanted a bath yes- but he also needed some time alone. His emotions were really starting to get the better of him, and he wasn’t all that sure how much longer he would be able to keep them in without bursting. 

“Well okay.” Aziraphale nodded- slightly unsure. 

Did he look-  _ disappointed?  _ At Crowley’s departure? 

Surely not.

“Thanks Angel. Good luck with it all.” 

“Thankyou.” The blond waved his hand, and bowed his head.

 “Have a nice bath.” 

Aziraphale turned to leave. . 

Crowley did the same. He walked back to the apartment (which wasn’t all that far from the pub), trudged up the long winding staircase, and into the room. He kicked off his shoes, and glanced around. His eyes landed on the sofa- where only a few hours ago he had been asleep on Aziraphale, and smiled. It would more than likely never happen again, but the memory would forever be treasured by Crowley. Wrapped in solid gold, and placed into a secure volt in his mind forever. 

Finally, after his recollecting moment of silence, he headed to the bathroom. 

It was a small room, baby blue in colour, with no particular exciting features apart from a rather dead looking pot-plant sitting on top of the mirror cabinet. 

Crowley stripped, closed the door behind him, then miracled the bath full of hot steaming water. He slid in- not at all cautious of burning his vessel, he liked it as hot as it could get- and laid his head back against the back of the tub. He swooshed his hands around under the water, and watched them as they turned bright pink at the sudden temperature change. He mused at his fingers, and played with the water, watching it drip down into the bath.

Little insignificant drops that made no difference to the entirety of water. 

He huffed at that.

After some time he got bored, and closed his eyes, letting his hands fall back into the water. It was nice, he thought, to be alone. As much as he loved Aziraphale’s company, revelled in it even, it was good to have a break from it. 

It was always such an effort maintaining his walls around Aziraphale- both mentally and physically. He had to constantly act a certain way, speak with a certain tone, and even think in controlled, guarded and disciplined thoughts just to keep his facade up. It was exhausting- which was most likely why his lies had been starting to wear thin the past few days. 

He recalled when, almost a year ago, they had broken down completely, and he had asked Aziraphale to run away with him to Alpha Centauri. What a mess that had been- the stress of Hell breathing down his back, the worry that came with the world supposedly ending, it had been too much for him. He’d been so certain he would be killed. Properly that time. He’d asked Aziraphale to run away- and it had been as much as a confession as he could muster in his state. And he’d been rejected.

He breathed deeply, and opened his eyes. The room was misty with condensation, and he regarded the mirror, now completely fogged up. The plant above it had withered quickly in the unnatural heat. 

Crowley scrubbed himself clean, rubbing the dirt and expensive perfume still lingering from the night before off his body. He washed his hair, thinking that soon he would need to cut it soon again, and then stepped out of the tub. 

He dried himself off with cheap towels, and changed into his shorts and a clean ‘Queen’ tour top, and left the bathroom. 

‘ _ I’m feeling reminiscent today.’  _ He thought. ‘ _ It’s not often this happens. It’s being around Aziraphale- he always makes me regard myself closer.’  _

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? 

He didn’t know. 

Crowley felt like there wasn’t much _he_ _did know_ anymore. Everything seemed to be spiralling into a big mess, all over again. He had hated his work with Hell, but not working now left him alone with all of this shit.

He sighed, and found himself sitting down on the bed. It squeaked. 

He fumbled for his phone, and not really knowing what else to do, plugged his headphones in, then opened Netflix. 

Surely if this reality wasn’t giving him the answers he wanted, another could.

 

**XXX**

 

Aziraphale had to admit- his investigation was not going as well as he thought it may. None of the Historians at Truro University knew a thing of which he spoke, so could not help him, and Aziraphale really couldn’t be bothered to go elsewhere to check. Besides- something told him he would be unsuccessful wherever he went. This whole thing had been (as the Americans would put it, the Angel was sure) ‘a blow’. 

He was walking back to the apartment through the streets, gazing absentmindedly at the shop windows and the small children gazing into them. His mind drifted back to the previous night, and the whole situation with Clowley. It made him blush thinking about how cute the demon had looked curled around his lap, and he practically felt on fire whenever he thought of their dancing. It was too bad Crowley only felt friendly feelings towards him. 

“Hey!” 

Aziraphale blinked out of his daydream. Was someone calling him? 

“Hey Aziraphale!” 

He looked around curiously, trying to find whoever was yelling for him through the busy crowds of tourists. Finally his eyes settled on the road, and he was shocked to see nobody else but Richard Kwaad leaning out of a very expensive looking sports car (nowhere near as nice as Crowley’s Bentley though, Aziraphale thought). 

“Oh! Richard!” He waved, and hurried over. “How good to see you!” 

This was a lie. After Aziraphale had found out about the party for what it was (‘ _ a drugs fest’  _ Crowley had called it) his respect for the man had spiralled downhill. 

Drugs, Aziraphale thought, were a debatable topic. They possessed many positives, and just as many negatives, all varying in severity. They could be very useful, for medicinal purposes, and for pleasure, but they also symbolised a gateway to a lack of control within one’s mind, and violence.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if it was all a sick metaphor for Richard Kwaad. It seemed apt.

He smiled politely at the man, who was still leaning out of his car’s window. 

“I was wondering if you should like to come back to mine?” He asked. “I hardly saw you at all last night- and well…. I’m a bit disappointed by that. It is a great fortune I caught you here today.” 

“I would love that Richard, but I am currently running an errand you see, and I really am very busy-“ 

“Oh nonsense!  _ An errand  _ you say? How quaint and utterly  _ boring.  _ Come on. Get in.” 

He beckoned with his rather fat, calloused hands. 

“No, I can’t. I have to complete this Richard. It’s important.” 

“Ughhh. Get in Aziraphale.” 

The angel didn’t know what it was, maybe the tone Kwaad had taken sounded something similar to Crowley’s own tempting voice, or maybe it was the curiosity to see where this was all going, but for whatever reason, he got into the car. 

He knew Crowley was going to smack him one for his stupidity when he next saw him, and Aziraphale couldn’t say he blamed him. This was in no lifetime, or reality, a good idea. 

The car’s suspension was low, and quite a shock to Aziraphale who was used to the height of the Bentley. It was also cooly ventilated inside, and the little spurts of artificial wind made the hair on his arms stand on end. 

Kwaad was seated to the right of him, maybe too close to be comfortable. He winked at Aziraphale playfully, and pulled the car off the pavement and into the road. 

“Say- where is that friend of yours?” He hummed as he concentrated on the steering wheel. 

“Crowley you mean?” 

“Yeah. Him.” 

“I think he’s resting up. Busy night after all….” 

“Hardly. You left before all the fun even started.” 

Aziraphale was uncomfortable with the conversation and where it was going, he felt the burning desire to protect Crowley and his reputation. However, he didn’t want to offend Kwaad while he was driving- it could end in some awful accident. And then he would be in trouble. 

He decided to change the subject. 

“So what car is this? It looks expensive…” 

Kwaad scoffed. 

“Expensive? Damn correct. This is a Porsche 918 Spyder **.** Its vary rare- and can get up to two hundred miles an hour.

“Two hundred? Why would anyone ever want to go that fast?” Aziraphale said with shock. 

“‘Cuz it’s fun? You need to liven up.” Kwaad slapped Aziraphale’s shoulder as he said this. 

Aziraphale decided it was best to stay silent after that, and he took to looking out the window. 

It didn’t take long to get out of Truro- the roads were empty, and its a small city anyway. Aziraphale expected them to start heading west, towards Kwaad’s mansion, and was a little surprised to see them journeying south. 

‘ _ Probably a back route.’  _ He guessed. ‘ _ He does live here- probably knows the fastest ways.’  _

However, after twenty minutes or so, there was no denying that they were bot headed back to Kwaad’s. It would just be too far. 

“Where are we going?” Aziraphale asked. 

“You’ll see.” 

Kwaad winked again. Aziraphale wondered if he knew how stupid he looked when he did that. 

“But I want to know.” 

“It’s a surprise.” 

“No- I don’t like this. Tell me where we’re going- or take me back.” 

 Kwaad looked annoyed, an expression, the angel thought, that suited his features much better than any smile. 

“Just be quiet. I said it’s a surprise.” His tone had also altered, no longer light, but heavier; only ever so slightly rough. Nobody else would have picked up on it. 

Aziraphale turned in his seat, frowning. He was reminded of Crowley’s words from the night before- ‘ _ a little concentrated drop of hell.’  _

He suddenly felt very worried. Why hadn’t he listened to Crowley? He needed to get back to him! 

“Richard take me back. Now.” 

“Shut up!” Kwaad hissed, voice suddenly very much sour. The car swerved slightly on the road.

Aziraphale decided enough was enough. He was getting more uncomfortable by the second. He readied his human body to miracle out of the car, protecting it to ensure it wouldn’t combust. 

Then, with a click of his fingers he performed the miracle. 

Only it didn’t work. 

He was still sitting in the car, with Kwaad smiling at him wolfishly. 

He frowned, and tried again. He blinked in confusion- what the  _ Hell  _ was going on? 

‘ _ Jesus- no.’ _

Had God finally cut him from Grace? 

‘ _ Please no. Please, please, please. Anything but that!’  _

It couldn’t be that- he hadn’t felt it. Surely he’d feel it! 

He tried again. And again. But his body would fail to do anything except panic.

“You alright there Aziraphale?” Kwaad questioned- his tone almost mocking. 

‘ _ No! Please, please not-‘  _

_ “ _ Y-yes. I, I am. Alright. I’m fine.” The angel stuttered, far too damn scared to even mask his worrying well. This had  _ never  _ happened before.

Kwaad hummed. 

“I’m not sure if I would be in your position.” 

‘ _ Wait- what is he talking about?’  _

“Huh?” Aziraphale muttered, still clicking away. 

“Well- I mean your miracles aren't working. I’d worry I’d been cut off if I were you.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. 

‘ _ How- how can he even-‘  _

_ “ _ Don’t worry that pretty blond head of yours though. It’s just me. You are still  _ very holy.”  _ Kwaad’s lips turned up in a grimacing smile. 

Aziraphale backed himself into the car door, away from Kwaad. He suddenly felt very vulnerable. His mouth had gone dry- he couldn't speak even if he wanted to. 

Kwaad seemed able to read his mind though. 

“How? I will show you later. For now- we drive.” 

Kwaad’s murky eyes turned back to the road, and he pressed his foot down hard on the acceleration. Aziraphale- for the first time in a year, felt real fear again at the look in his eyes. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes please let me know! 
> 
> Oof

**Author's Note:**

> Also yes- I know there’s nothing about their ‘true forms’ in the book or show- I did nick it off supernaturual, Im sorry it was a cute idea. 
> 
> And I gave Azi glasses coz hes also cute. Thats may argument for everything.


End file.
